Unthinkable
by goldnox
Summary: AU/ What happens when the unthinkable happens? When death invades life, a body is buried and all that's left is grief and the knowledge that nothing will ever be the same? And how do you hold to a love that you never had enough of to begin with, now separated by a supernatural veil? Is there any peace to be found, for the living or the dead? / Alt Ssn 3 End, Delena, Character Death
1. Prologue The Beginning of the End

**A/N: Hello darlings! It's been a while :) So glad to be back for a bit while taking a break from OF. **

**So here we start with an AU end to Season Three. In Goldnox-land, during Elena's choice via Matt of whether to continue towards Damon or turn back to Mystic Falls to see Stefan, she decides to continue towards Damon knowing that Stefan was surrounded by other loved ones whereas Damon was alone. Plus, I mean, come on, IT'S THE RIGHT DECISION AND WE ALL KNOW IT. *steps off soapbox* So, that's where we're starting and then from there things are going to take a bit of a tumble. **

**All the thanks to Trogdor19 for not only _not_ throwing a fit when I told her I wanted to take a break from OF to write out this horribly angsty dream I had, but somehow found the time from beta'ing multiple stories and writing two books and a new fic to beta this as well. You are wonder woman. (Can I borrow your cape?)**

**WARNING: Major character death. Not even joking. If you're looking for fluff, this isn't the story for you. Angst with a capital A darlings. Actually, capital everything. **

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**Prologue: The Beginning of The End**

Matt's truck screeches to a halt in front of a non-descript, gray building, the name Don's Storage only half-lit so the word 'rage' flickers at me like a warning. I throw open the door before I remember to unlock my seatbelt, tugging and yelling at the polyester that is keeping me chained inside. I scramble for the button to free myself but Matt is already there, batting my hands away and with a heavy click that is louder than it should be, I'm loose.

I half-stumble from the truck, not fully registering Matt's urgent voice as he tells me to run, that there isn't much time. All I can see is a door. A door that behind it holds everything.

A burned body that stole the endless years of my beloveds as soon as silver-coated wood plunged through metal chains. A man that was a friend, a teacher, a guardian, and now a hunter, stronger than the hate he holds and more powerful than the fear that should keep me away. But I can't turn back.

I can't because he's not the only one inside. Somewhere in this maze of rejected belongings and secrets and dusty cast-offs is Damon, waiting to die. Alone.

I'm two steps closer to my goal when the door bursts open and my breath vanishes, waiting for the first sign of color that will write the outcome of the encounter. Shiny, sleek blonde hair and an ancient voice that shakes me to my core because I think I may actually deserve her animosity? Or spiky brown, cut too long ago and never paid enough attention to, shaggy and laid back and the opposite of everything Alaric is now?

I wait, and it is crisp black that meets me. I run with every ounce of strength I can summon, slamming into a leather-clad chest and breathing in bourbon and something that smells burnt. We're a tangle of arms pulling each other closer and shuffling in through the doorway, my tears soaking his shirt and his lips brushing my crown too hard and too quick before his voice rumbles deep through his chest.

"What are you doing here?" he whispers harshly, angry and scared and hugging me even though I know he wishes he could push me away. "Take her back," he snaps at Matt, "she doesn't need to be here, see this. It's not safe."

"Where exactly is she supposed to go, Damon? This is where she wanted to be."

I feel another kiss to my head, a curse on a sigh and his arms squeezing my shoulders while I wind mine under his jacket, digging my nails into his back to bring him just a little bit closer. Minutes, that's all he has. Minutes.

"Stefan is on his way," Matt tells him, relaying my entire phone conversation with a gentle detachment. I hide my face and breathe in Damon, memorizing the feel of his hand stroking my hair while Matt tells him how I explained to Stefan that even though I never un-fell for him, I couldn't leave Damon alone. That he deserved to have someone with him, someone he cared about, at the end. That Stefan promised to get here as quick as he could, and to tell his brother he'd see him soon.

Damon only nods, but his chest is shaky. His pulse is too fast and his breathing isn't sure and steady like I need it to be. He's scared, I realize, and I can't stop the tears from rushing from my eyes.

For him. For Stefan. For Caroline and Tyler and Alaric and Abby and Bonnie and Matt and Jeremy and Liz and Mayor Lockwood and just everyone, absolutely everyone.

"Where's Mr. Saltzman?" Matt asks quietly, as though he's afraid that speaking his name will bring him storming into our presence.

"Went running after Rebekah after he staked Klaus, though I doubt he's just going to leave the body so he's probably going to be showing up here any second."

His voice is surprisingly calm considering everything, and that scares the crap out of me. The worse things get on the inside, the more calm he acts on the outside until it explodes in every direction. If he goes dead still, I'll break. He shouldn't have to act so brave, just because I'm here. God, I took that from him too, didn't I?

"Why don't you go check the back door, keep an eye out?" Damon says and his body shifts like he jerked his head pointedly. "And if you see anything don't feel the need to scream about it, I'll hear you."

"Right," Matt says, a heavy pause and then the quiet sound of his footsteps shuffling away from where Damon and I are huddled against the wall.

"Elena, look at me," he whispers and my whole body is racked with sobs. No one says my name like he does, and I can't lose that, lose this. He can't die. He just…he just _can't._ "Elena, I know you can hear me. Look at me," he commands and his fingers on my chin make me raise my head until my eyes meet his.

They're so perfectly blue, so bright and clear and have seen so much, more than I will ever comprehend. There's so much life in them, there's no way they can ever dim. It's just so wrong.

I'm still lost in them when I startle because they disappear for a moment, my brain not registering that his hands are on my face, his thumbs brushing over my eyes to wipe my tears away as he shushes me.

"Breathe, Elena, I need you to breathe," he urges quietly and I shake my head, my hands clenched into fists in the front his shirt.

"I can't," I choke out and he smirks at me. It's not a real one, but it's still there and I need it, need him to make jokes and flirt with me and piss me off and touch me like only he does.

"You can, and you're going to."

"Damon, I-"

"I'm going to die, Elena," he tells me and my world flickers. His hands on my shoulders keep me steady. He must know I'm moments from collapsing. "Me, Stefan, Caroline, we're all going to die but you aren't. You're going to be fine. You're going to live a long life and take care of Jeremy and everything is going to be okay. You understand me?"

I shake my head no because I don't understand. How am I supposed to live when everything, everyone, is dead?

"Promise me," he growls at me and I nod though I don't know what I'm agreeing to. "Good," he huffs out and pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me and I don't ever want to let go. Please, just let it all be a mistake. Let it be a lie. "You're going to be fine," he whispers but I don't know if it's even for me or for him at this point. It doesn't matter.

He's in the middle of a long kiss goodbye to my hair when his whole body tightens, somehow pulling away and curling around me protectively all at the same time.

"Stefan's here," he whispers and then the door opens. "Glad you could make it," Damon says lightly and a choked half-laugh, half-sob escapes me as he disentangles us.

"Stefan," I breathe on a sigh and let go of Damon to hug his brother around his middle. It's still familiar, the way his arms envelope me, but it's different too. My head knows just where to lay on his chest, finding his heartbeat with a rhythm I still know as well as my own. But his muscles are a little bigger, his hold a little stronger from all the months he spent with Klaus. I pull away faster than he wants but I just can't…can't hold one and not the other. Not anymore.

I'm wiping at my eyes when both their heads snap towards the back of the building, hearing something I don't. Fear strangles me, locking my limbs until they both take a step at the same time, moving around either side of me. My hands shoot out and land on each of their chests, pushing back to save them but I've never been strong enough.

"No," I snarl, looking back and forth between them. Damon huffs a sigh and looks at his brother, nodding his head towards me. Stefan just closes his eyes before he looks down at me, those pleading green eyes that have convinced me to forgive him of everything I never wanted to, but couldn't help but look past anyway.

"Elena…"

"No, Stefan," I snap at him and his head jerks back the tiniest bit. I look to his brother and a grin is pulling at the edge of Damon's mouth. "And I don't know what you're smirking at. Coward," I spit at Damon. His eyes flare dangerously but I don't care. "Both of you. Running off to fight a fight you can't win instead of facing the possibility that tomorrow you could both still be alive. Just stop!"

Damon throws my hand off his chest and stalks past me before I can stop him. I tear my eyes from his back and focus on Stefan.

"Please…" I choke out but when his jaw hardens, I know it's no use.

"You coming, brother?" Damon calls from the hallway and I turn to face him, his hardened glare the last thing I may ever see from him. "Stay here," he snaps at me and then Stefan's shoulders are in front of me, marching forward until he's beside his brother, their backs the only goodbye I get from either of them as they turn the corner at the end of the hallway.

I fall against the wall, sinking to the floor. They may never come back. Never. And I just let them go.

Something crashes from where they're hidden and I'm on my feet, adrenaline clearing everything from my mind except the need to get to them, to save them, somehow, like they've always saved me. I'm running and there's a roar that sounds like Damon and a grunt that sounds like Stefan and it hurts, it all hurts so much to hear and not see and I can't get there fast enough. Two more steps and I'll round the corner…

I don't make it. Something grabs my shirt and flings me back, away, slamming me into the wall I was collapsed against. A sticky warmth spreads over my scalp and I must be bleeding, but I can't open my eyes to check.

"Finally, a moment alone," a female voice says and I don't know how to be afraid anymore. I know I should be, but all my terror is in a room I can't reach and surrounding two men I can't see. "I didn't think they'd ever step away. I think it's time we had a little chat, Elena."

"Rebekah," I whisper, opening my eyes to see her standing over me. "Shouldn't you be running from Alaric?"

"Well, that's the thing," she says with a tight smile just as there's another crash and shout of pain from wherever Stefan and Damon are. I flinch and her grin grows. "I don't want to run anymore."

I listen to the sounds of Stefan and Damon losing, moments away from dying at the hands of a monster no one can stop.

No one, but me, I realize.

"Do it," I whisper and she looks shocked. "Do it, now. Fast. Please, Rebekah."

She crouches down in front of me, head tilted in confusion.

"Why should I make it so easy for you? You deserve to suffer," she says petulantly and I panic because I know what she's doing. She's waiting for them to die, to torture me until the final moments before she kills me anyways.

"You think they won't try to stop you?" I taunt. "You think that one of them isn't probably listening to every word? Don't waste the chance. I didn't. Not when I stabbed you."

Her face shifts and pain explodes in my neck, shredding and pulling and it hurts, it hurts…

I grit my teeth through my scream, reminding myself that I want this. I have to do this.

It's the only way.

I focus on every throb of my life pouring out of my body and into hers, the scratch of her nails in my scalp, her teeth tearing my flesh. Everything is thick and heavy and it all becomes very, very slow.

And then it just stops.

Someone is moving me, but I'm too tired to open my eyes and see who. It won't be long now.

I hear my name, fuzzy and far and on repeat. I wish it would stop.

Something slams against my chin and my mouth is pried open, hot liquid creeping inside and I know I don't want it but I can't remember why. I shove my tongue against it, pushing it against my teeth and locking my throat closed, holding my breath. The arm moves and I spit it out, the blood that they're forcing on me.

"Dammit, Elena," Damon growls and the wrist comes back and I scream, scream no, scream to stop, and it does. I spit again and hands wipe at my face, sluggishly opening my eyes to find Stefan with tears in his. I glance to his left and Damon is crouched in front of me, beside him, blood on his mouth from where he tore into his wrist.

"Stop," I whisper, my head falling back against the wall. I wince at the pain in my neck, my hand flinching like it wants to cover the wound but I can't seem to move.

"Elena, let him heal you," Stefan begs and I smile softly at him.

"Not this time."

"Fuck this," Damon snaps. "You're not dying today."

"Yes, I am," I tell him. "So you won't."

"Hold her still, Stefan," Damon says and I hear him bite his wrist again.

"Damon-" Stefan whispers but his voice is cut off.

"No! She's not dying today! I just broke my best friend's neck, _again_, and there is no reason why we can't get her out of here in the next five minutes before he wakes back up!"

"Stefan," I whisper and turn towards him. "Don't let him. This is what has to happen. Alaric can't be killed any other way, he'll never stop and you'll never be safe. This is what I want."

"No one cares, Elena!" Damon yells at me.

"Listen to me," I soothe at him, reaching for Damon's hand with what little strength I have and his fingers slip through mine, squeezing hard enough that it should hurt but it doesn't. "You are going to be fine, but not if you force me to turn. Don't-" I stop when I don't have any more breath, the vision of blue eyes and black hair becoming blurred. "Don't force me to hate you."

"Elena…" Stefan murmurs, his voice cracking over my name.

"Take care of him," I beg Stefan, squeezing Damon's hand. "He needs you, more than you know."

"I will."

I turn back to Damon, my eyes fluttering closed before I want them to.

It's so close now. Almost there.

Everything is cold, and warm, and heavy. So heavy.

Soft and dark and smooth.

"Elena?" they say at the same time, one voice stronger than the other, but I'm not sure which.

"Don't…" I gulp a breath, the only breath I need to say this. "Don't feel unloved. Don't feel…" I trail off, too tired to say anymore.

"What, Elena?" Stefan whispers. "Don't feel what?"

"Alone," I breathe and then I'm just…gone.

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**A/N: So...yeah. *hides* Confession: Yes, I killed Elena. No, she does not have vampire blood in her system from Meredith. She is d.e.a.d. Like, permanently. This is the direction this story will be going, Elena POV from the other side. It will be sad, it will be tough to swallow some of the ramifications of her death. But I promise to do everything to balance the hard parts with lighter ones. I sincerely hope you stick around, and as always, plz follow, fave, review, I'm very interested (and slightly scared) to hear all your lovely thoughts. Thanks for reading!**

**If anyone is looking for something truly amazing, PLEASE check out Trogdor19's new fiction (A season 5 re-write! YES!) In Time We Trust. Tons of twists, Delena love, magically fixing errors and one hell of a surprise or two ;) Don't miss it! **

**-Goldnox**


	2. Windsors of the Wrecked

**A/N: If you're still here reading this chapter after the prologue, then THANK YOU. Truly. I hope you enjoy! **

**Thanks to Trogdor19 who betas fast and furious, in dingy hotel rooms and golf carts in 25 degree weather while prioritizing me over ppl with puppy dog eyes and fascinating stories of methane filtration systems on their dream cow compound. Oh, to be loved by a dragon...**

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**Chapter 1: Windsors of the Wrecked**

I open my eyes to Damon's bedroom and breathe deep. A smile stretches across my face as I turn and take in the clean wood headboard of his meticulously made bed, complete with ruler straight hospital corners and bright light streaming in through his opulent windows. I've always loved his room.

I glance around but I don't see him. That's okay, I'll just wait. I was going to talk to him about something, but can't seem to remember what. I hate it when that happens, like when I would go downstairs at night, heading to the kitchen but so many different thoughts would race through my mind on each step that by the time I flicked on the kitchen light, I couldn't remember if I was hungry or thirsty or just looking for something that was missing.

I perch on the edge of his bed and bring my feet up, resting my chin on my knees. I smile when I think about the lecture he's going to give me when he finds me with my shoes on his bed. Sometimes I can't help but to provoke him, and it's not like he doesn't do the same to me all the time.

My sight settles on his fireplace, and I can't think why but something looks…odd. The ashes are too high, I realize. Like he's burned too many fires and hasn't bothered to clean it out. But that can't be right. He's way too OCD to ever let that happen.

Unless he's not here to clean it.

My chest squeezes in panic, in terror.

The bloodline. Klaus. It all comes rushing at me too quickly and I leap to my feet, scouring his room for evidence that he's somewhere close by. His wallet and keys are on his dresser, next to his phone, but his phone is dark and looks dead. Damon _never_ lets his phone die.

"Damon?" I yell, my voice bouncing around his room but only silence returns it. No gust of air followed by a cocky quip, him sauntering toward me half-dressed and asking if I need to sleep in his bed, _naked_, to keep the nightmares away. Just, nothing.

It's all too still and too quiet.

Until I hear it: a huff of a breath from his bathroom.

I fly around the corner and he's there, leaning forward with his hands on either side of the sink, staring into the mirror. He's wearing a suit, the top button of his black shirt open and the long strands of his tie hanging haphazardly down his chest. He's a vision in black, his pale skin looking like creamy silk in contrast.

"Damon…" I breathe, falling against the doorway in pure giddy relief of finding him alive. He doesn't respond to me though. Not an eye twitch or even a grunt of acknowledgement. "You could have answered me, you know. You scared the crap out of me."

He clears his throat and straightens, taking the end of his tie between his thumb and forefinger and rubbing it like a worry stone, a wistful smile overtaking his mouth. I realize it's the same tie he wore to the Miss Mystic Falls pageant and I blush.

"I'm glad you're okay," I whisper, ducking my head and tucking my hair behind my ear. There are so many things he and I need to talk about, and I honestly have no idea how to broach any of them. He mustn't either, because he still doesn't say anything, just begins to tie his tie with the easy movements of something that he's obviously done a thousand times before.

I watch, fascinated, as he loops and commands the silk fabric, his fingers so sure and confident just like he always is. I wonder if his father taught him to do that. I have a fleeting ache for Jeremy, unsure who it was that taught him. If it was our dad, or maybe Alaric. I feel like I should know this, but I don't. It could have been Damon for all I know, and somehow, it wouldn't surprise me in the least.

I take a deep breath and prepare myself because he deserves to hear this. And I know he must need it, especially with whatever is causing him to act so brave while he's obviously upset.

"Damon, there's something I want to say to you and I don't know how you're going to take it but I'm going to say it anyways and you're going to listen to me."

He says nothing, just tightening the perfect single Windsor knot he prefers. I step closer to him and lay my hand on his arm, but he doesn't even pause in straightening his tie. Fine, he can ignore me all he wants but it's not going to keep me quiet. It never has before.

"You're a good man, Damon. And I know I've said a lot of things to you, things about Stefan and you and me and being confused but the truth is, I'm not. Not anymore."

His hands drop to his sides, one snaking into his pocket and his jaw flexing. At least he's not interrupting me yet. I take another deep breath so I can try to get this out.

"And your love has never been a problem. Mine was."

His head tilts like he's considering my words, but he's still quiet and it's actually starting to piss me off that he won't even look at me.

Fine. He needs me to spell it out for him? I will.

"I love you, Damon."

Silence.

He strides past me out of the bathroom, wincing when sunlight catches his hand. My eyes pop in shock when I see the smoke rise from his skin, my jaw slack when he comes back to where I'm standing and picks up his daylight ring from where he left it on the side of the sink.

"You're seriously just going to ignore me?" I snap. "What the hell is your problem?"

Still nothing.

Rage and embarrassment burn through me.

Did I seriously just tell Damon Salvatore that I love him and he can't even respond? Not even just with a sarcastic rebuff? I must be insane.

I turn to go and my eyes skirt over the mirror, reflecting the wall above his bathtub directly behind me.

But I'm not there.

I blink and rub at my eyes, but there's only tile showing in the glass.

No…

I slowly reach out to touch the mirror and though my hand is against it, I can't feel it. I realize I didn't feel the fabric of Damon's jacket either and I burst into tears, remembering.

I'm…I'm dead.

The storage facility and Alaric and him and Stefan and Rebekah…

I'm dead and he's alone.

Oh God…

I can't breathe.

I take it back, I take it all back.

I was wrong, this isn't right, this isn't what I wanted and this wasn't supposed to happen and I can't be _dead_. Why didn't I let him save me?

Oh no…

_Jeremy_. Stefan and Caroline and Bonnie and Matt and Tyler.

What have I done?

"Damon?" I screech, running out of the bathroom to find him standing at his dresser, putting his wallet, keys and phone in his pocket.

I wrap my arms around him, hugging his back and wishing I could just _feel_ him. His heat, his solidity, his _anything_. But I can't and he doesn't feel me either because he walks away, leaving me standing and screaming his name.

He pauses at his doorway, turning back and looking at where I'm standing, tears streaming down my face and for a second I wonder if he can hear me. If he can feel me here, with him. I rush towards him, cradling his face in my hands.

"I'm here, Damon. I'm here," I whisper, but he just shakes his head as though he's casting off an errant thought before leaving the room.

I hurry to follow him, shouting that I'm sorry and he was right and I made a mistake and that I need him to forgive me, I need him to fix this like he fixes everything. I'm right on his heels as he heads for the front door, nearly slamming into his back when he stops with his hand on the doorknob but doesn't open it.

"What's wrong?" I ask, swiping at my face when he looks towards the closed door that leads to the cellar, his eyes closing under a heavy sigh that spells nothing but trouble for whatever is happening that I can't help him with.

"Dammit," he mutters and blurs away from me, sending me racing after him as I try to catch up.

My feet land on the basement floor just as there's a slam and a snarl, but it doesn't sound like Damon. It's Stefan, and the knowledge sends tingles of fear down my spine because that's the same sound he made before he killed Chad and Dana in the gym under Klaus' compulsion.

"That's enough," Damon sneers and my heart breaks even more for him. He doesn't need this now. Not with what I'm putting him through.

"Why?" Stefan says as I round the corner, splatters of blood still on his lips and a half-empty blood bag in Damon's hand to match the other drained ones at Stefan's feet.

"Stefan…" I whisper, racked with disappointment but still aching to comfort him.

"It doesn't matter anymore, Damon. Nothing matters."

"You think I don't know that?" he growls, shoving a handkerchief against his brother's chest on top of his crooked tie, hanging low from where it's pulled down from his neck. Stefan slaps the cotton square away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Then why do you even care?"

"Because you promised her, Stefan. You really want to break your word?"

Stefan's lips twist in agony, pulling a sob from my chest that neither of them notice.

How could I do this to them? Haven't they suffered enough?

"It's the only thing that makes it better, Damon," Stefan whispers.

"I know." His voice is quiet and I barely hear it. "But I need you to wait. Just…not today."

Stefan nods and Damon tosses the blood bag into the trash.

"It's time."

"No," Stefan tells him, shaking his head. "I…I can't go, can't do this."

"You will," Damon says, his voice strong and leaving no room for argument.

Stefan's head hangs and Damon scrubs a hand over his face.

God, I can't watch this.

"I need you, brother," Damon whispers and the tears start again.

I have no idea how I'm crying so much when I'm dead but it feels endless, like it'll never stop.

"I'll see you there," Damon says, his voice steadier as he turns to leave, Stefan staring after him and through the place where I'm watching, helpless.

I have no idea what to do, how to fix this, where I should be. My head whips back and forth between Stefan staring at the closed lid of the refrigerator and where Damon disappeared up the stairs. They need each other so much right now. They can't do this again.

"Stefan," I grit out, my patience non-existent even though it's all my fault. "I know you can't hear me but Damon's right. You promised me you'd be there for him, and you're better than this. You've come back from every horrible thing that's ever happened to you and you have to get it together. So clean yourself up and go after your brother!"

Stefan doesn't move.

"Now, Stefan!" I shriek.

His head snaps up, eyes squinted in confusion at where I'm standing and I wonder if he heard me. But the look only lasts a moment and then his shoulders slump, taking the first of slow shuffling steps towards me. I follow him up the stairs, making sure he's not going to his room. But he doesn't, heading outside and climbing into his Porsche. I have half an urge to get in with him but I don't. This car still makes me sick to my stomach and I swore I was never getting back in it again.

He leaves, and I stay.

My eyes close with a sigh after watching him drive away and I'm suddenly so tired and I don't understand. I just feel so _lost_.

I open my eyes and look at the front yard, the driveway. I wonder if I were to walk if I would end up back here. Maybe, maybe not. I wish there was someone I could talk to, just one person to explain to me what is happening and how long this lasts and if there's anything I can do other than _nothing_.

But mostly, I wonder where Damon went.

As soon as his name crosses my mind I'm in his car, sitting beside him in the passenger seat while he drives with a relaxed ease that doesn't distract me from the tightness in his jaw. His left hand rests casually on top of the steering wheel, the sunlight glinting off his ring. His other is idly playing with the white ball of his shifter, twisting it the half-degree the loosened screws allow.

I snuggle back into the seat, squinting against fresh tears and laying my hand over his. I remember him doing the same on our trip to Georgia, asking him why he didn't re-tighten it. He just shrugged before explaining that the one time he kept it fitted he snapped it off when he shifted too hard. I couldn't stop laughing at the image he painted and I can't stop from smiling sadly at him now either.

"_Give and take, Elena. Nothing good ever comes from being a tight-ass a hundred percent of the time."_

"You know," I say and sniffle, "Georgia was the first time I really had fun after my parents died." I wipe my eyes with my free hand and a strangled, half-sob of a laugh bursts out of me. "You were such an ass in the car, picking fights about music and bitching at me for putting my feet on your dash."

I shake my head, wishing with everything I have that that's where we're going now. On a roadtrip to nowhere. Flirting and fighting and pushing each other's buttons because we just can't resist. God, what I wouldn't give for the chance to have one more five-minute break with him.

"But at Bree's, you were different." I close my eyes, sinking into memories of how considerate he was, even when ruthless. "You drank my shot for me when we first got there. You didn't even hesitate, you just…took care of it, so I didn't feel out of place or embarrassed or anything. It was really sweet, Damon."

I open my eyes to find him watching the road, but not really looking. There's a hint of a smile on the corner of his lips and I wonder what he's thinking about. If he's remembering, like I am.

"You ate my pickles," I grin, blushing, though I don't know why. "And half of my fries. Jerk."

I bump his shoulder with mine, thinking about his childish methods of distracting me so he could steal my food. Nodding toward the corner in the back of the bar so that when I turned to look, he could snatch a few off my plate; how his innocent smirk dared me to accuse him when I whipped back around with a glare. The same one he gave me when he reached over the bar for napkins and "accidentally" spilled my beer, sending me leaping off my stool so I was out of the way. By the time I came back from the bathroom from washing the alcohol off my hands, my plate was empty save for the skimpy, burnt ends that no one ever eats.

"I still say you're clumsy, and a pickle thief," I tease him softly.

He's quiet now, but he wasn't the first time I said it, retorting that being gullible on top of a danger magnet was the worst luck he had ever seen bestowed upon a single person. And subsequently him by association.

I squeeze his hand. He was at such a complete loss of what to do when I started to cry after he said that, not realizing the extent of just how stupid I felt because of finding Katherine's picture. He just stared, frozen, as my eyes welled up and it took two whole minutes before he pulled it together, dragging me towards the pool table and betting me the right to select our music on the way home that I couldn't beat him.

"I know you let me win," I smile at him. "Not that it even mattered in the end because you were complaining so much about the gas on your clothes that we couldn't hear the music anyways."

"Still smells like gas in this fucking car," he mutters and I freeze.

"Damon?"

He doesn't respond, just downshifting into neutral before he slows to a stop. Outside my house.

"I'm here, Damon," I say and squeeze his hand harder, but he pulls it away to remove his keys from the ignition. He doesn't move to leave the car, instead just letting his head fall back against the headrest.

"You really are an idiot if you thought for one second I wouldn't rather you hate me than have it be like this," he whispers.

I open my mouth to argue, but I don't have words for him because he won't hear me anyways and the worst part is, I know he's right. He could always stomach my hate. It was every other emotion I threw at him that he didn't know what to do with. Not for a long time, at least.

I watch him get out of the car and then I'm beside him, lengthening my stride to match his as he approaches my front door. It's strange, different, like I'm somehow seeing my house through his eyes instead of my own. How his gaze drifts to my window and then he pulls it back, his brow tightening as he does. I can almost taste the bile that rises in his throat when he steps onto my porch. How much he loves and hates it, all at the same time.

He goes in through the front door with a steady gait, but the quietness of the house slows him down until he turns and shuts it so gently I don't even hear it latch. The silence must be deafening to him, and I hook my arm through his.

We go up the stairs slowly, his eyes trained on the steps in avoidance of my face on the wall and I have no idea what the point of all this is, but I don't want him here. He shouldn't have to go through this. It's not fair.

I head to my room but stop when I realize Damon's no longer beside me, pivoting to find him leaning against the doorway to Jeremy's room. Damon's just standing there, arms crossed, looking inside.

I don't know if I want to see what he's seeing. I don't think I can handle this.

"How long you been sitting there?" Damon asks and I shut my eyes.

God in heaven… _Jeremy_.

"Get up," Damon tells him and pushes off the wall, disappearing into my brother's bedroom.

I creep forward, terrified to look but helpless not to follow, as though there's a tether binding me to the two men in the room. I peek around the corner to find Jeremy standing, his eyes red and blank and looking absolutely dazed.

He's dressed in a suit, like both Damon and Stefan, but his shirt is white and his tie is undone like Damon's was when I first found him. Just open and hanging and abandoned.

Damon's in front of him, his hand held out palm up.

"Hand it over," he tells my brother and snaps his fingers, waiting.

Jeremy just squints at him.

"I can smell it, Jeremy. Give it. _Now_," he demands and I watch, horrified, as Jeremy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a joint. He hands it over without protest, my suddenly tear-filled eyes blurring the sight of the two of them. "This all you got?" Damon asks, depositing it in the interior pocket of his suit jacket.

Jeremy nods, but doesn't speak.

How long has it been, I wonder?

"Good. Next time you need to numb the pain you come to me and have a drink like a man, _not_ like a kid trying to sneak pot past the principal."

"Damon!" I screech, appalled that he's offering to get my little brother drunk as a way to deal with his grief.

"I can't do this, Damon," Jeremy says, shaking his head and looking so lost I completely forget that I'm angry with him.

He's all alone now. And it's my fault.

"Don't tell me Papa Gilbert or Ric never taught you how to tie a tie?"

"This isn't a joke!" Jeremy yells at him, hurling a rage that I've never seen him possess. "My sister is dead! She's fucking dead, Damon!"

Tears are coating Jeremy's face, unaffected by the angry swipes he's making to clear them away.

Damon isn't breathing.

"You were supposed to protect her! You and Stefan! And now she's just gone! Where were you?!" Jeremy yells and shoves at Damon's chest but he doesn't move. "This is your fault!"

Jeremy storms away from him and goes to look out the window, crossing his arms across his chest. But I know Damon sees just as well as I do the way his shoulders are quivering under his silent sobs.

"It's my fault…" my brother whispers and I hit my knees, my arms curled around my chest because I can't hold him.

What did I do to deserve this version of hell?

I hear a gasp and look up to see Damon in front of him, holding him by the shoulders so Jeremy is forced to meet his eyes.

"You listen to me and you listen good," Damon commands. "There are a lot of people to blame for her death, myself included, but you are not one of them."

"Everyone dies on me, Damon. I just…I don't know. It feels maybe if I would've stayed in Denver-"

"Stop," Damon nearly shouts, cutting him off. "You've gotten dealt a shit hand in life but the only thing you're responsible for is beheading a hybrid on your front porch. And since you did it to protect your sister, you don't get to feel bad about that either. When you need to feel guilty, believe me, I'll let you know. Until then, suck it up, or I'm going to make you."

"What is wrong with you?" I scream at Damon, outraged. "He's just a kid!"

I scramble to my feet, praying that maybe Jeremy will be able to see me, to hear me, and know that he doesn't have to listen to Damon's cold-hearted bullshit. He needs someone to hug him and tell him he's going to be fine, that he'll always have people that love him looking after him. Not whatever 'real men don't cry' mantra they taught in the 1860's that Damon is apparently insistent on passing on.

I'm just about to try to shove Damon off my brother when he lets him go, taking a step back. I hope to God Jeremy hits him for me, but for some reason, he doesn't. He just wipes at his face, sniffles and swallows with a thick breath, squaring his shoulders and standing a little taller. He half-nods at Damon who, for some reason, looks almost proud.

The look doesn't last, whatever it was, and he slides Jeremy's loose tie from his neck and drapes it around his own. My breath catches as I watch him tie it with enough slack that he can slip it back off, holding it out to my brother.

"Thanks," Jeremy mutters, putting it on and tightening it up to his neck. A perfect, single Windsor knot.

"Ready?" Damon asks and nods towards the door.

Jeremy just shakes his head, his voice sounding scratchy and tired when he says, "No."

"Yeah, me either," Damon mutters, clapping my brother on the shoulder and steering him from the room.

Oh my God.

They're going to my funeral.

* * *

**A/N: So there is the first official chapter. I promise to be a bit lighter in the emotional range on the next one, so I would love it if you would trust me just a little bit longer before the whether-to-continue verdict is in. But in the meantime, feel free to rant your love and hate and predictions and feels in the review box below! (Hopefully) see you next chapter :)**

**-Goldnox**


	3. Confessions of the Clouds

**A/N: Wow, you guys! I am so touched by all your support, your trust, and your willingness to stay with me despite whatever chaos I throw at you, I cannot say it enough. Undoubtedly amazing.**

**This chapter was beta'd with care, and grace, and all caps rage shouting for my immediate demise by the unparalleled Trogdor19, who cheered me up after I pulled a massive bout of pouting following Thursday's episode because I wrote this FIRST, DAMMIT! And whose fingers are currently frozen numb from beta'ing in the freezing weather while saving turtles (despite the fact that I feel her job's purpose is inherently backwards, but no friendship is perfect.) So, please go check out her new story _In Time We Trust_ and show her the love that you all bless me with, because nothing warms the body like lovely reviews! **

**WARNING: This chapter will contain the use of illegal substances (depending on your state of residence ;) )**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Confessions of the Clouds**

"Dear Papa Gilbert…"

I sigh. Of course Damon would show up here. 'Cause I can't have one moment in my life that isn't invaded by insanity.

"I met the most sleekly handsome vampire," he continues behind me, but his voice is getting closer. "He's everything a martyrish teen could ever want," he says in a mockingly high voice. "_Except_," he drawls and plops down beside me, laying back on his elbow with his ankles crossed, "he's a dick."

"Hilarious," I deadpan, my scowl not putting even the slightest dent in his satisfied grin.

"Hey, I just tell it like it is. No reason to lie to Daddy." He leans a little closer and stage whispers, "Even he can't deny I'm hot."

I shove his elbow out from under him so he collapses on his back.

"Thanks a lot, Elena. Just what I was hoping for. Dirt, in my hair."

"Don't do the crime if you can't do the time," I say breezily and turn back to face my parents' graves, but not before I catch the hint of relief in his eyes.

He's been so worried, ever since we got back from Chicago. I wonder if he's ever going to stop looking at me like I'm going to break. I tuck my knees under my chin and consider it. Yeah, probably not. I don't really blame him either. Not after I lost it in the car on the way home.

I completely freaked after realizing I was still wearing the dress that Stefan rejected me in. And it's not that I didn't appreciate the gesture from Damon, but I just couldn't look at the purple fabric and not see Stefan's face, hear his voice as he told me he didn't want me. Although Damon probably could have lived without me screaming for him to pull over, practically falling out of the car in my hurry to rip the dress off my body.

I wince at the memory. Right there on the side of the road. Like someone totally in control of their emotions and not at all in danger of having a mental breakdown. At least it was dark and there was no one around but us.

Not that it really makes it any better because there's no doubt about it: I scared the crap out of him. That's the only explanation for him not making even a single sexual comment, just rushing around to my side of the car and draping his shirt around my shoulders so I was covered. I honestly have no idea how he got it unbuttoned so fast. Then again, it is Damon. I'm sure if there's one thing he's an expert at, it's getting undressed in a hurry.

"You're being so _boring_," Damon groans from where he's sprawled out beside me.

"Then leave. I don't recall inviting you anyways. And for your information," I snap, picking up steam, "it's rude to invade people's private introspective time."

"Is that what we're doing?" he scoffs. "Having 'private introspective time'?"

"You'll notice the words 'we' and 'private' don't exactly mesh well."

"Elena," he says huskily, his voice spooling my own name out to me like a lure that I don't know how to resist. "'We' and 'private' mesh perfectly well."

His gaze is trained on my lips and this is _exactly_ why I left my cell phone at home and didn't tell anyone where I was going. Which rationally would make perfect sense except for the whisper in my head reminding me I knew good and well that if he couldn't get a hold of me, he'd come looking. And he always, always finds me.

I grab a handful of loose dirt and toss it at his chest to cover my blush. I doubt I succeed, even as he flinches away.

"Really? Do you think I have an endless supply of black shirts for you to ruin?"

"Yes," I scowl at him and he laughs. Actually laughs.

"Damn, you're pissy today."

"Am not."

He cocks his eyebrow at me and I want to smack that look off his face.

Okay, maybe I am a little pissy but I have every right to be. Life sucks.

I shriek when Damon grabs my arm and yanks me down so I'm on my back beside him, a little too close for friends but not close enough for anything more. I don't know how he always manages to keep us in exactly that space.

"What makes you think I want dirt in _my_ hair, jerk?" I say and shove at his shoulder.

"You're a teenager," he shrugs. "Teens are supposed to be dirty."

"What? I'm not dir-" I cut myself off when I see his smirk and realize I'm waltzing right into a verbal trap he laid out for me. I sigh. "Never mind."

"Now then," he says and gestures to the sky in a sweeping motion. "What do you spy with your doppelganger eyes?"

"What?"

"You're really no fun at all," he moans. "Consider this your own personal Rorschach test. Feel free to call me Dr. Damon, if you like."

"You're drunk and I'm leaving," I say and try to get up but he pulls me back down.

"Not until we diagnose the cause of aforementioned bitchiness," he says seriously and Lord, if I only had a stake. "Now, what do we have? Butterflies? Puppies? Unicorns?"

"Are you seriously telling me to pick out shapes in the clouds with you?"

"And it only took you an hour to put it together. That's some quality education you're getting at that high school of yours."

I huff my irritation and turn back, crossing my arms over my chest. Stupid sky. Why can't it be cloudless today? Or even start to rain? Maybe it'll hail and dent Damon's car. That I could totally go for.

I have to admit the thought of him whining about his precious Camaro brings a sick sense of pleasure to me, the bad part of my personality that I never let show sneaking out from its locked box. I find that I'm starting to smile and I make myself stop. It's wrong to be like that. To take pleasure from someone else's pain. And Damon may be rude and inconsiderate and a jerk, but I do kinda love his car and it would be a shame to destroy it. Even if he deserves it. Sometimes.

It really is pretty today. It's that perfect shade of blue when everything's soft and bright but not harsh. And there are a ton of clouds, lazily drifting over the backdrop like they have all the time in the world. So unhurried, so unstressed. Just going where they want, when they want, merging here and there and no one cares about who started out with whom because it doesn't matter in the end anyways. They're all just clouds.

Is it healthy to be jealous of a cloud? Probably not. I seriously hope Damon never finds out that I've apparently gone a little crazy over the past few months. I don't know what he'll do, but he'd probably try to compel me back into sanity. I wonder if that would work.

I pay closer attention to the shapes that are transforming above me, hoping that if I can find something normal in them I won't be stuck in the only psychiatric hospital that's run by a sociopathic vampire.

Butterflies, he said. Puppies. Unicorns. Nice, soft, happy girly things.

I look for a rabbit. That would work. Aren't bunnies supposed to be easy to spot in clouds because of the tail and stuff?

I strain my eyes and search but the whole time my mind is thinking about how Stefan eats them. Or, at least, did. Yeah, that's not helping.

"Awful quiet over there," Damon says softly and I frown. I can't even look at clouds like a regular person.

"I'm thinking."

"Not supposed to think, Elena. Just look, see, and spill."

"I…" Suddenly I'm having a really hard time breathing. "I don't see bunnies, Damon."

Please don't let me cry. And don't let him laugh.

But he doesn't, just quietly asks, "What do you see, Elena?"

"I don't see anything. It's all just a mess."

He's silent for a moment and I bet he's wondering if he can find me a strait jacket in black.

"Good mess, or bad mess?"

"What do you mean 'good mess'? There's no such thing."

"Sure there is," he says and I turn my head to look at him, but he's still staring at the sky. "Girls in bikinis mud wrestling? Great mess."

"Ugh," I groan and turn away, but I'm also trying to stifle a laugh that is dying to break free and I have no idea where it came from.

He nudges my foot with his boot and I kick him back a little harder than is strictly polite.

"You didn't answer."

I shrug. "Good, I guess, although not in the way _you_ think about messes so don't even go there with me." I turn and look and he has his hands up by his shoulders like he's the picture of innocence. Right.

"I didn't say a word."

"I know what you're thinking." I glare at him and he's wearing that smile that scares me to death. Because whatever he is thinking, I probably really, really don't want to know. And right on cue…

"You sure about that?" His voice is roughly deep, dangerous for more reasons that I want to acknowledge.

I deflect in a panic.

"And what, Oh Wise One, do you see when you look at the clouds?"

"Easy," he scoffs. "Two B cups, one A and an exquisite C."

"Oh my God!" I screech and lean over to smack his shoulder. He rolls a bit to protect himself, but not enough to really escape, grinning and chuckling the whole time.

I lay back down and shake my head at him, biting my lip to keep from laughing. His smile widens for a moment, the one that he hardly ever shows. I get one small nod like he's congratulating himself on a job well done and then he's up, standing so fast he's a blur of black and extending his hand out to help me.

"Come on, grumpy," he says with a jerk of his head towards the exit to the cemetery. "It's family night and we still have to go grocery shopping for whatever that stuff is Jeremy wants. Although why he gets to pick what we eat is beyond my comprehension."

"Because," I say, taking his hand and letting him pull me up, "it was his turn."

"Ridiculous," Damon mutters as I begin dusting off the back of my jeans. "The only thing he cares about are Totino's Pizza Rolls and Pop Tarts."

He gently grabs me by the elbow and turns me around, picking something out of my hair and brushing the dirt and grass off my back.

"Thanks," I tell him over my shoulder and he winks at me. Right before he slaps my ass. "Damon!"

"You're welcome," he says and starts towards the cemetery gate. He's five steps in front of me when he turns and starts walking backwards. "By the way, you owe me a new shirt."

I smile.

Then it falls.

I never did buy him that shirt, I realize. That one, or any of the dozens, hundreds, that I probably owed him. And now I'll never get the chance.

Because he's standing almost at the same spot where we laid that day, but three feet to the right. Dressed in a black suit and staring at newly packed dirt, a granite headstone bearing my name facing him. Breaking him.

My stomach rolls when I wonder if he dug the hole. Please, God, please say he didn't. I'd do anything to know that he compelled someone else to make room in the earth for my body. I can't fathom what that would do to him, to stand there for hours with a shovel, to hear the sound of dirt hitting my skin or maybe my coffin, sealing me away. Forever.

My hand covers my mouth, my shoulders shaking because I already know. He'd never let anyone else be the last to see me, not if he had the choice. He'd want my resting place to be perfect, and he'd never trust anyone to do it but himself.

I can only imagine how he would have repeatedly stopped, coughing through his gags so he wouldn't throw up. How he would sit beside the grave for an hour after lowering the coffin he helped Jeremy pick out. The way his hands would shake while washing the dirt off them once he was back home.

He's absolutely still now, his hand shoved deep in his right pocket and his jaw locked.

He's not crying, though everyone else is.

Bonnie's face is streaked with tears, her hand clasped tight in Jeremy's. Her other arm is looped with a sobbing Caroline's, whose face is hidden in Tyler's shoulder. As I watch from where I'm concealed by the surrounding trees he runs a hand down her hair, comforting her in the way I wish I could.

Matt is still, like Damon, but his eyes are red and swollen and his cheeks are wet. He glances to his left, at Stefan, whose eyes are glistening.

They're all so quiet, the only sound is their heartbreak. Their grief.

Stefan steps forward, and I notice he has a bouquet of roses in his hand that's farthest away from me. My heart breaks for him, for all the people he's had to bury. How he never got the chance to do this for Lexi. He takes a rose from the bunch and hands one to Matt, my oldest friend just nodding a silent thank you in return. Down the line of my loved ones Stefan moves and one after another they take theirs, crying harder at the realization that this is it. It's time for them to say goodbye.

Stefan stops next to Damon, holding a rose out to him but Damon just swallows tightly. Stefan's eyes close, then with a deep breath he steps forward and gently lays both his and his brother's on my grave.

My vision blurs with tears.

"Goodbye, Elena," he whispers and steps back beside Damon.

One by one they pay their respects, whispering their love and how much they miss me, how much I meant to them.

I don't want to be here, see this. I shouldn't.

I wonder if I could go, if there is a way to be in another place. Somewhere that hurts less.

But then I look at Damon, immobile and steady, breathing in and out though he doesn't need to. Making himself be strong, to face his worst nightmare and I can't leave him to do this alone. If he can survive this, I can too.

Stefan looks at his brother, his brow furrowed in worry at Damon's frozen expression, and I hope that he helps him, embraces him, offers him some words of comfort. But Stefan merely lays a hand on Damon's shoulder, squeezing once before he lets go and turns away, heading towards the cemetery gate.

Slowly, they all leave. Bonnie and Caroline and Tyler and Matt. Bonnie waits at the gate while Jeremy moves to stand with Damon, neither talking. Just mourning, together. My brother swipes at his face, sparing one look at Damon before he leaves, just like the rest of them.

"Damon," I whisper when we're alone, taking my place by his side. "You don't have to stay here, do this. You should go home," I plead uselessly.

His eyes close with a deep breath, and not for the first time today I wonder if he heard me. I wrap both my hands on his arm, pulling on him to make him leave but he doesn't waver. Instead, he pulls his hand out of his pocket, a silver chain dangling from his fist. It's my necklace.

"Damon, please, let's just go," I beg.

"You shouldn't be here," he grits out. "I wasn't worth it. None of us were. Not if you're..." He's fully trembling now, the grief and rage he's been bottling on the verge of exploding out of him and this is killing me. "You're _dead_, Elena. And I'll never forgive you for this."

"Damon, don't say that, please," I whisper, moving to stand in front of him so I can see his eyes. They're shining, silver swords of hate and pain and loneliness and love just burning through me, trained on my name that's engraved on a rock I can't break.

He shoves his hand back in his pocket, turning away and storming from the cemetery.

He didn't say goodbye.

* * *

I open my eyes and it's dark, stars peeking through ash-colored clouds. They slide over the moon and when they clear, the light blankets me. It's a beautiful night.

I turn to try to find where I am and the first thing I see is Damon's profile, lying on his back beside me. We're on the roof of the boarding house, I realize.

"Hey," I whisper with a smile. "What are we doing up here?" But he doesn't acknowledge me like I knew he wouldn't.

He's no longer wearing his suit from before, now clad in his standard black t-shirt and dark wash blue jeans. I wonder how long it's been, if it's still the same day. I find I have no way to tell how much time has passed.

The trees that embrace the house slightly bend under a gust of wind, the leaves rustling their protest.

"You should go inside, where it's warm." I frown, worried that the frigid air I can't feel is too harsh on his exposed arms. But he doesn't seem to mind, not shivering or even showing a single goosebump from what has to be the nearly-freezing temperature. He's just watching the moon or the stars or maybe the clouds.

Without warning he reaches into his pocket and I wait to see if he's taking out my necklace again, but it's something else entirely and my mouth gapes. It's the joint he took from Jeremy and a lighter.

"Damon," I admonish, and he lights it. I shake my head in disappointment, unsure who I'm seeing as he brings his right hand up to pillow his head.

"You know," he mutters, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out slowly as if he's savoring it. "I bet wherever you are, you're probably screaming right about now."

"I'm right beside you and damn right I'm screaming!" I yell. "Now knock it off."

"Too bad there's not shit you can do about it," he says with a satisfied smirk and taking another drag.

So this is his plan? To punish me? My anger sizzles with the paper between his lips and I try to grab it away from him, but there's nothing I can do. When he pulls it away he coughs a bit and looks at the joint, chuckling to himself and it makes me want to cry, to slap him, to do anything but have to listen to it.

"You know your brother smokes KB? I guess it makes sense," he shrugs. "He's done enough to want better than schwag and there's no way he's finding anything close to medical grade in bum-fuck Virginia. Although why he's wasting it in a joint instead of a pipe is beyond me. Unless…"

He takes another hit and his smoke-billowing laugh wrenches tears from my eyes.

"Nice, Gilbert. Blueberry papers. I owe you one."

"Damon, stop," I breathe. "You're better than this."

But he doesn't stop. He just keeps smoking, staring at the sky. And I'm so, so angry at him, but at the same time, I just can't be. Not really, when I know what he's doing. Just like he accused Jeremy of: he's trying to numb the pain that I put there. I did this.

I give up and burrow into him, resting my head on his shoulder and laying my hand on his chest. I watch as it rises and falls with each desperate inhale, exhale, he takes to hold himself together.

"Okay, Damon," I sniffle. "You win."

It's not long before his breathing slows, the pauses stretching out longer and longer like he's forgetting to do it. Maybe he is, too high to remember to act human. Not that he needs to, up here alone in the middle of the night.

I shift so I can see his face and he looks so relaxed, his jaw loose and eyes half lidded. There's no stress lining them, they're just bloodshot and unfocused and not filled with all that I saw at my funeral. He clears his throat and twitches like he just remembered something, his left hand rising from where it was resting by his side and the half-smoked joint still between his fingers. He squints at it and I see that it's thankfully out.

"Fuck," he mutters but doesn't re-light it, just letting his hand fall back to the roof. I snuggle closer and even though I can't feel him, I'm glad I can still be here. I just wish he knew I was.

"You know what's funny?" he slurs after a long period of silence and I turn to look at him.

"Hmm?"

"I've never seen bunnies either. It's always been a mess. One giant fucking mess."

I reach out and cradle his face in my hand, sweeping my thumb over his cheekbone and he closes his eyes with a sigh.

"A good mess or a bad mess?" I ask, but he doesn't answer my question.

Instead, he merely whispers, "I miss you."

* * *

**A/N: Whew...I wonder if there will ever come a time when I'm not crying while writing this story. Nah, probably not ;) But as I told a faithful and lovely reader, if I'm not crying while I'm writing, I'm not being cruel enough to these poor characters. And it is only the beginning :) **

**In the meantime, if you're looking for something to make you feel better please, please go read _River Deep, Ocean Wide_ by Nightlightbright. This girl...this girl is incredible. And it's her first fucking story. *sharpens axe* Seriously, I am constantly blown away by her ability to write gorgeous metaphors and her penchant for description leaves me absolutely slack jawed. It is a delicious slow burn Delena, AU/AH and the story is sizzling at the point of inducing third degree burns. Read read read. You will love. Promise. **

**See you all next week! Oh, and feel free to curse my name into oblivion in the review box below, I know I deserve it. **

**-Goldnox**


	4. Unraveling Brothers

**A/N: Well hello there! Cannot say enough how honored I am at the response this story has received, so touching! Truth: I have this slight obsession growing over the relationship between Damon and Jeremy and it is going to play a big role in this story, and I'm super excited about it. Hope you enjoy!**

**Oh, if I had a dragon that I could love... That could inspire me to be better... That could look at my words and help push them to be on another level than I ever could have done alone... Who could see things in my writing that make me proud to attempt such a feat... Who I could email and text and call screaming about plot developments and cheeseburgers and everything in between... Oh wait, TROGDOR19! Best. Dragon. EVER. Best beta, friend, ass-kicker and TVD ranter a girl could ever hope for. All the love and always, socks.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Unraveling Brothers**

A chair scratches against the floor, and I look.

Jeremy.

Too young for the fatigue I see in his shoulders, trying to rest casually against the back of the kitchen chair in our house he's sitting in. His hair looks a little messy too, and when he scrubs a hand over his face and then through it, I understand why. I wonder if his face looks older now, tired from the exhaustion wrought by grief over our entire family. I could move to face him, to see his eyes, but when I take a step forward I stop. I don't want to see this pain on my baby brother.

Damon is braver than I am, standing against the kitchen counter and watching him, not seeing me standing at Jeremy's back.

"Help him," I plead to Damon but both of them are silent. Damon's only response is to fill his glass with bourbon and drink it in a single, wincing gulp.

"Can I have one?" Jeremy asks and while I glare at my brother, Damon cocks an eyebrow and considers him.

"Are you twenty-one yet?"

"No…"

"Then _no_," Damon smirks and pours himself another.

"Dick," Jeremy mutters and Damon raises his glass in salute. "You said-"

"Do you really want to be drunk when they get here?" Damon snaps and my head recoils back.

When _who_ gets here? What is going on?

"No," Jeremy admits.

"Then there ya go."

They're both quiet for a few minutes, like they're waiting. But for what or whom, I have no idea and something about this feels very, very wrong.

"Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" I ask both of them, moving to the side of the table, leaning forward on my hands and scowling at my brother in the look that never fails to get him to spill his secrets. But I don't get the answers I want. "Screw this," I mutter, frustrated. "Being a ghost sucks!"

I'm halfway back to the living room to settle into the cushions, already pouting when Jeremy's voice stops me.

"Hey," he says and it sounds like he's smiling.

Oh my God, can he see me?

I whip around but he's still staring at Damon, Jeremy's profile showing the wistful smile I knew that I had heard.

"Remember that family night when everyone was drunk? I mean, except for Elena…"

"She was drunk too," Damon tells him and I gasp in outrage.

"Don't tell him that!"

"What?" Jeremy laughs. "No way…"

"If I was sneaking you shots under the table, don't you think I was doing the same for her when Ric's back was turned?"

"You got him drunk?" I screech. "And on family night?"

"Like clockwork, one by one, you and Ric and her would come into the kitchen on the pretense of checking on dinner and take a shot, asking me to check that no one was watching." Damon shakes his head, like he's trying to elude the smile that is tugging at his lips. "It would have been a hell of a lot more convenient if we could have just passed the damn bottle around but everyone had to be all sly about it."

He's right, I remember, knowing exactly what night they're talking about.

_I walk into the kitchen and Damon smiles at me over his shoulder, still in front of the stove and a dishtowel slung over his shoulder. He barely jerks his head away from me, wordlessly telling me to come closer and when I get to his side, I notice the full shot glass he has waiting by his hip. I eye it shamelessly, a mischievous giggle sneaking out and he winks. _

_I glance guiltily at the living room and bite my lip, and he shifts a bit so my entire body is hidden by his, a wicked grin lighting up his face when I toss the vodka back with a grimace._

"_Who's winning?" he asks me, no doubt trying to cover the sound of my sputtering. _

"_No idea. But you'd think the outcome of whatever game those two are playing decided the ruler of the universe for the next century." _

_He takes the shot glass from me and sets it down, that predatory look in his eyes when he slowly slides his thumb over my bottom lip. There's not a single breath of air left in my lungs when he brings his thumb to his own mouth, kissing away whatever residual alcohol he cleaned off me._

"_Careful," he whispers and I swallow. "You don't want to get caught."_

_Oh, really? That's his excuse?_

"_Yo, Elena!" Jeremy yells from the living room. "Want to see Ric get busted up like an old man tripping over his own walker?"_

"_You remember saying that when you inexplicably fail this semester," Ric grumbles in return._

_I lift my chin in a dare, letting my eyelashes sweep down with my gaze, focusing on Damon's lips long enough for him to know exactly what I'm thinking about. _

"_Damon…" I breathe and inch closer to him, my hand settling on his chest so that I can feel the elevated pace of his pulse. "You should know better than anyone, I can handle my liquor."_

_I slide past him, acting like I didn't feel the graze of his fingertips against my hip and that I don't know his eyes are trained directly on my ass, admittedly sauntering away with a little more flair than normal. _

_Serves him right._

That was one of the best nights that the four of us ever had, and one of the last. Our laughs were louder, smiles stretching wider. Ric and Jeremy didn't seem to care when I sat a little too close to Damon on the couch, both of them too focused on rationalizing that vampires could be classified as zombies to notice that our proximity was non-existent by the time the movie was over. I'm still not sure when he stretched his arm behind me on the cushion, but at some point I found myself curled into his shoulder. And I never moved.

"I still have no idea how I got to bed that night," Jeremy snickers.

"Ric dragged you up the stairs after you wouldn't shut up about me eating brains instead of drinking blood, just to see if I liked it." Jeremy snorts a laugh and the sound warms my heart. "You passed out about two seconds later and started to snore. Loudly."

"What happened to Elena?" my brother asks with a smile and Damon shifts his stance and crosses his arms. Jeremy's face falls. "You carried her up, didn't you?"

Damon doesn't answer but he doesn't have to. Jeremy already knows, and I don't really want anyone else hearing how Damon always cradled me to him when he carried me, how when he laid me in bed, he let me pretend that I was asleep. His tender kiss to my forehead and whispered goodnight should belong to us and us alone.

"How come you haven't asked me, Damon?" Jeremy says, his voice quiet and young, but still older than I remember.

"To the prom? You're not my type."

"Don't do that," Jeremy glowers at him. "You know what I'm talking about. Why haven't you asked me if I've seen her ghost?"

Damon's eyes narrow and it's a look I know too well on him. It's a question that he's dying to ask, but afraid to hear the answer to. And trying to mask both desperation and fear by acting transparently tough.

"Have you?" he asks softly and my eyes widen.

"No," Jeremy tells him and he sounds so confused, almost betrayed. "I don't get it either. As a doppelganger she was supernatural. Shouldn't she be on the Other Side?"

Damon blows out a breath and I hate what it's doing to him to have this conversation. But at the same time, I'm curious to hear his response. Damon always has an answer.

"Look," he tells my brother, "the Other Side, it's like supernatural purgatory. So the fact that you haven't seen her isn't necessarily a bad thing. She moved on instead of hanging around to watch over our dumb asses."

Jeremy nods and I cover my mouth with my hands, backing further away from him and absolutely petrified that somehow he'll suddenly see me. I can't take that away from them. If they think I'm at peace and find out I'm not, it'll haunt them both. And there's nothing I can do to change it.

Damon turns around and refills his glass, shooting the amber liquid and setting the tumbler back on the counter a little too roughly.

"They should be here soon," Damon mutters.

"Yeah."

"Not that I'm looking to go to parent-teacher conferences and take you back-to-school shopping or anything, but you know you have another option," Damon says, still facing the wall over the counter.

Warmth seeps through my chest. Is he really offering to take care of my brother?

How did I never tell this man I love him when this is the kind of person he is?

Wait…he said _another_ option.

Exactly what option are they taking?

"I know," Jeremy tells him. "But I can't stay here. Not anymore."

"Believe me, I get it," Damon says and turns back around to face my brother, leaning casually against the counter once more but there's too much stiffness in his neck. "But you don't actually have to stay _here_."

"Thanks, but…" Jeremy smiles, shaking his head. "Just let Social Services do their thing."

Social Services. He's a minor. And an orphan. I've left him with no one to take care of him and nowhere to go and what is going to happen to him? Is he going into foster care?

Two years, he has two years until he's eighteen.

Panic tightens my chest but Damon just shrugs.

"Your call, Denver it is."

Oh thank God. Denver is okay. Denver is _good, _I tell myself. They'll take care of him and he likes it there and everything is going to be just fine.

Damon's head snaps to the front door and a moment later there's a knock.

Jeremy looks to Damon and Damon nods at him once, their silent agreement to get it over with passing between them easily. I wonder how I never noticed it before: that somewhere along the way he and my brother developed the ability to communicate without words, just as Damon and I always had. Then again, maybe that's just Damon and everyone that actually knows and cares about him.

Jeremy starts to get up from the table and I move to hide so he won't see me, but it doesn't keep me from hearing the tremor of urgency in Damon's voice as he goes to follow him.

"Jeremy…"

There's a pause in two sets of footsteps, silence weighting a look I can't see and that sounds too private for me to witness.

"I know," Jeremy tells him. "I will."

Damon doesn't answer, but it doesn't surprise me. All I hear from him are the heavy thuds from his boots crossing the foyer and him opening the front door.

"Liz," he says, then adds with disdain, "Social Worker _person_."

I stifle a laugh and cover my smile with my hand. I can only imagine the look he's blasting that poor person with. My smile falls when I realize that it's not just because Damon is inherently distrustful of everyone, but because he doesn't want to let Jeremy go.

"Damon this is Sam-" Sheriff Forbes starts but Damon interrupts her.

"Don't care," he says, trying to sound bored and it may work on the rest of them, but not on me.

"Fine. May we come in?" she asks, sounding slightly irritated and I don't blame her, but she should also know better than to expect any different from Damon.

"No need. He's ready to go. Aren't ya, kid?"

Jeremy lightly clears his throat.

"Jeremy, I'm Samantha Jackson from the Virginia Depart-"

"Yeah, yeah," Damon says, cutting off a voice I've never heard before. "We get it."

"I'm going to be escorting you to your new home in Denver. You almost ready to go?" the woman asks my brother, her voice still soothing despite being faced with a territorial Damon, who's being unnecessarily rude to mask his hurt.

"Yeah," Jeremy tells her. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Okay," she says gently, and I can almost hear the soft smile she's giving him. Then her voice becomes sharper when she says, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Salvatore."

Damon scoffs. Then his voice drops dangerously low when he tells her, "He better arrive in Denver in the exact same condition as he leaves Virginia, or you'll have me to answer to."

"Dude!"

"Damon!" the Sheriff hisses over the voice of Samantha repeating her compelled instructions.

"What? It's called insurance, and a healthy sense of motivation."

"Not cool, man," Jeremy mutters.

"Oh, it's not?" Damon asks sarcastically. "Damn, that ruins my whole day."

I'm nervously waiting for the sound of Jeremy hitting him, which would be the worst thing ever with a Social Worker from the state standing on our front porch, but nothing happens. Instead, my brother chuckles.

What the hell? Have they all gone crazy since I died?

"I'll be fine. And I'll call you when I get there," he tells Damon, his voice dangerously close to a placating tone and directed at a vampire that has literally snapped his neck before.

"Just…get out of here. I've got shit to do and your pesky lingering is fucking with my schedule."

"Okay, man," Jeremy says, sounding far more understanding than I ever would have given him credit for before this. "I'll see you around," he tells Damon and it sounds like he claps him on the shoulder. Or maybe that was Damon.

Footsteps cross over the threshold and then the door shuts. I peek around the corner from where I've been hiding and Damon is still in the foyer, leaning forward with one hand on the wall and the other on the door.

I take a step towards him but he pushes off, going into the kitchen and refilling his glass of bourbon. I'm behind him as he takes it to the window that overlooks the street, wishing he could feel my hands on his shoulders and my cheek on his back while he watches the car with my brother in it start to drive away.

* * *

There's a tug of my attention, like someone calling my name, and I'm in the parlor of the boarding house.

"Stefan," I breathe, finding him standing at the drink cart with his back to me. "How are you?" I ask as I approach his side.

He doesn't say anything, of course, and I sigh, laying my hand on his arm. I look down at the cart and my eyes widen.

"Stefan?"

He has a blood bag in his hand, staring at it intently as though if he looks hard enough, he'll be able to find what it is that he's unable to resist. I know he's been trying to learn control, the thing that's eluded him all these years. Maybe this is a good thing. That with me gone, he'll finally be able to master it without me interfering because he won't be worried about how I'll react to him drinking human blood. He can focus.

"I know you can do this," I tell him. "You're strong enough now. It'll be okay."

He sighs and pours it into a crystal tumbler, and I smile when he lets it sit for a moment just to test himself.

"You can do this," I promise him when he brings it up and takes a sip, his eyes closing in satisfaction at the taste.

Black veins flutter around his eyes but I don't flinch, just continuing to supportively rub his back. His second pull is stronger, faster.

"Easy," I whisper, but he doesn't stop, draining the rest of the glass in one gulp. His eyes snap open and he is breathing hard, a glint of something fierce burning out of his eyes. "Okay," I tell him, nodding. "That was a good try, and it'll get easier. You'll get better. I believe in you, Stefan."

I step away, thinking that he's going to move to the couch or maybe go to his room to journal. But he doesn't move.

Plastic pops and it's another bag opening.

"Stefan, wait…" I say but it's too late. He doesn't even pour this one into a glass, instead sucking on the bag ravenously and squeezing it to propel the blood into his mouth that much faster. It's gone before I can feel my stomach twist at the sight.

He drops the empty blood bag on the floor and tears open another, guzzling it down.

"Stefan," I whisper horrified, tears stinging my eyes and praying that Damon gets here to stop him before it's too late. Praying that Damon doesn't find him like this.

The bag is done before he is and he growls, letting it fall to the floor to join the other and his hands scrabbling for another full one.

But he suddenly stills and blurs over to the couch, relaxing with a book in his hands before I can blink.

The front door opens and I gasp.

No, not now…

"How'd it go?" Stefan says as Damon walks into the parlor, heading straight for the drink cart.

"It's done. He's on the plane with a compelled Social Worker."

"Good," Stefan tells him and turns a page in his book, not noticing that Damon has frozen in front of the bottles of alcohol and isn't pouring a drink.

Oh God, he knows.

"Have a little afternoon snack, did we?" Damon asks, pivoting to stare at his brother.

Stefan shrugs and I want to scream.

"So, is this your plan?"

Stefan rolls his eyes and closes his book, getting up from the couch.

"No idea what you're talking about. Now, if you don't mind, I've got somewhere I need to be." He turns to leave but Damon is already in front of him. I don't even remember seeing him move.

"Like where? Ripping apart the bodies of two dozen people you grabbed from the nearest Steak N Shake?"

"I'm not like that anymore. I'm in control," Stefan says steadily and the slightly detached tone of his voice sends shivers through me.

"You know every time you say that I end up putting bodies in a mass grave?" Damon is visibly seething.

"Good thing you don't have to worry about that this time." Stefan moves to go around him, but Damon shifts to stay in front. "Back off, Damon," Stefan threatens but his brother doesn't move.

"You think I don't get it?" Damon asks, his voice too fast and his face flashing through too many emotions, all of them bad. "Because I do. But Elena-"

There's a blur and a crack and a groan of pain, Damon's voice shutting off when Stefan's fist connects with his jaw.

"Stefan!" I scream and Damon rights himself, but he doesn't swing at his brother and I don't understand what's happening to them. Why is everything turning out so _wrong_?

"You don't get to say her name to me," Stefan grits out.

"Why not?" Damon taunts him, his body lurching forward an inch and Stefan balks. "_Elena_…" he sneers and I cover my mouth with my hand as Stefan backs away from him while Damon stalks forward. "Elena, Elena, E-len-a…"

Stefan roars and launches at him, shoving his brother into the far wall with a crash.

"Stop it!" I shout through fresh tears, but it's hopeless.

I wince away from the sight and sound of Stefan repeatedly punching his brother, his ring tearing the skin and breaking bone.

"Please," I whimper, and Stefan steps back.

Damon is leaning back against the wall and he slumps to the ground. I run to his side, glaring at Stefan and frantically wiping tears from my eyes. I look to Damon and he's bleeding profusely and breathing hard, looking more lost and defeated than I've ever seen him.

"How could you do this?!" I scream at Stefan.

"Looks like you broke that promise, brother," Damon says with a cough, sputtering blood.

"Don't talk to me about promises, Damon. You've broken every promise you've ever made except for one. An eternity of misery. Right, brother?" Stefan's voice twists over the last word and I take Damon's face in my hands, leaning my forehead to his temple.

"Don't listen to him," I beg, "he's out of control and you _never_ broke your promise to me, you never left."

"Two promises," Damon says breathily, holding up two fingers and trying to regain his breath from the beating. "I never broke my promise to Elena," he says with a fatigued grin.

I half-sob a laugh, my mouth twisting into a pain-filled smile.

"No, you didn't," I whisper, so relieved that he knows the truth but frightened of how Stefan is going to respond.

But he doesn't say anything. I glance up at him and his eyes are pure hatred, jealousy, guilt, and all the things that Stefan feels too much of when it comes to his brother. And I know how much he loves Damon, but sometimes I worry that he really does forget. Especially in moments like these, ones that strain the fragile thread tying them together.

Damon coughs again and regret flashes across Stefan's face.

"Help a brother out?" Damon asks, holding his hand out for Stefan to take to pull him from the floor.

I breathe a sigh of relief. They're going to be fine, they always fight and it was only a matter of time before they detonated on each other. They'll make it through this, just like they have everything else.

But Stefan doesn't take Damon's hand, crossing his arms over his chest in an act of defiance.

"Stefan?" Damon and I say at the same time.

"It's your fault," Stefan tells him and I suck in a breath. He can't possibly be saying what I think he is. "Elena's dead and it's _your fault_."

I'm too in shock to respond while Stefan leaves and slams the front door behind him. I look at Damon and he's just as stunned as I am, his hand fallen limply by his side and staring blankly at the space where his brother blamed him.

"No," I snap and move in front of Damon. "Don't you dare listen to him. This was not your fault, this was my choice and it was wrong but you did everything you could. You do _not _get to blame yourself. Do you hear me, Damon?"

His head falls back against the wall, his mouth twitching like he can't decide if he wants to cry or scream.

He looks towards the front door where Stefan left and shakes his head, pushing himself up off the floor. Unusually slow, he makes his way up the stairs to his room, me behind him every step of the way. I have no idea what he's going to do and I'm terrified. Absolutely terrified.

He shuts his door carefully, taking out his keys and wallet and phone and depositing them on his dresser. Every movement is sluggish and deliberate, like he's in a daze and I have no idea how to snap him out of this.

I've never seen him this bad before. Not even when Katherine wasn't in the tomb.

I follow him as he moves to his bathroom sink, washing the blood off his hands and face. I release a breath when I see he's already healed. His eyes in the mirror drop to his shirt, splattered with a few drops of his blood. But he doesn't wince or grimace at the sight. He doesn't seem to really register it at all.

"Damon, you're scaring me," I admit and a flicker of something appears behind his eyes, but it's gone again before I can name it. He steps past me out of the bathroom, reaching behind his head to pull off his shirt and letting it fall to the floor while he makes his way to his closet. My head tilts in confusion and worry when he shuts the door behind him, locking himself in.

"Damon?" I ask, panicked, but I can't open the door. I close my eyes and concentrate and when I open them, I'm by his side.

He's not moving, just looking at a rack of shirts.

He's perfectly still and my heart shatters.

I close my eyes, waiting.

It doesn't take long.

He explodes around me. I cover my eyes and ears against the snaps and buckles of shelves being shredded, shirts and pants ripping. But it doesn't stop me from hearing him as he grunts and shouts, a whirlwind of rage destroying everything he can find.

When it's over I peek through my fingers and he's leaning back against the wall, panting shakily and staring at the ceiling, the remnants of all his possession now in tatters at his feet.

"Damon?" I say, my voice quivering over his name and his mouth twists, eyes pinching closed.

The heels of his hands dig into his eyes, his fingertips pulling at his hair and a single sob breaks free.

I reach for him and miss when he sinks to the floor, chin to his chest and arms wrapped protectively around his head, his body racked with tremors as he cries.

I'm on my knees and as close as I can manage, my arms around him, hands petting and soothing each place I can reach to try to take away the pain.

My mouth wants to shush him but I know I shouldn't. He has to let this out.

So I whisper that I'm here, that I'm sorry, that he's not alone and never will be and none of this is his fault.

Over and over, I promise that I love him.

And through his barrage of tears, all he says is my name.

* * *

**A/N: Deep breaths. I know this hurts, breaking Damon is never fun. And fair warning, things are going to get a little (ok, _a lot_) worse before they get better, but they will get better. In the meantime feel free to rage against me for my absolute evilness to such a sweet man in the comment box below, always love to hear your feedback. Thank you all for reading, and hopefully see you next chapter! **

**-Goldnox**


	5. Frozen as Fire

**A/N: Howdy! At the risk of losing every single reader, I am posting this chapter. There were many berry-flavored tums involved in the writing, breaks for gagging fits, etc. Dear, sweet, incredibly resilient Trogdor19 beta'd this and had to stop for puppy pic breaks, sent it back half complete with the words "I quit" in the last comment box and then hit the bourbon. In the middle of the day. But she is an angel and finished it anyways, with the request that she never have to look at it again. I am so so sorry Troggy, I never meant to traumatize you. You deserve better. So you've all been warned, grab your Pepto and your pitchforks, and let's hop aboard the angst train! Choo choo!**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Frozen as Fire**

I am an invisible, flickering flame that curls towards breathy whispers of my name and flashes on a whim. That's the closest thing I can describe myself to: something that has no control over when they are lit or where. It's not necessarily a bad thing, just different. And it's all out of my control, but it's better than nothing.

It has to be.

But it doesn't make this any easier. Not when you witness a man like Damon Salvatore break over you.

I stayed with him in his closet for hours, watching his tears dry and breaths finally even. It was a relief, but short-lived because it faded as quickly as it arrived. The guilt is too heavy for it to be diminished by dry, clear blue eyes.

We didn't move until his phone rang. I assumed he would ignore it, but he was up and answering in a blurred hurry to catch whoever was calling him. I didn't understand the immediacy until I realized it was Jeremy, the conversation not much more than a quick exchange of crass insults and transparent taunts, but behind the banter my brother was letting Damon know that he was settled in Denver, safe and sound, just as he promised. And for that I am so, so thankful.

Because when Damon hung up he looked so comforted, his shoulders holding infinitely less weight than a few minutes prior. And I don't know when Jeremy's safety became such a priority for him, if it was before or after my death, but I guess it doesn't matter. He cares and he'll take care of him, for me. I know he will.

What worries me, is who is going to take care of Damon?

When he sat on the edge of his bed I could tell how tired he was from the day; releasing Jeremy from his temporary custody and fighting with Stefan, just from everything. It didn't surprise me in the least. After my parents died, I slept so much at first because it was the only reprieve from the endless hours of thinking, thinking, thinking. Wondering and guessing and missing them and it was all just exhausting.

I know he probably could have used a drink and a blood bag, but I couldn't offer him that and he didn't seem to want to leave his room. So I knelt behind him, my arms draped over his shoulders and my cheek pressing into his neck, asking that he rest, even if just for a few minutes. Somehow, I think he heard me and it wasn't more than a few minutes after his head hit his pillow that he was sleeping comfortably.

I didn't hesitate to stay beside him, curling up on my side so we were face to face. I never get to see him that like enough. Unburdened, not playing the villain or the tough guy or even the master seducer, just himself. A man who was once a boy. A brother and a son, a friend. Someone who has witnessed the world change and who's lost more than he's gained. Eyes that have seen thousands of sunrises and sunsets. A nomad whose home is in his heart, hidden safely away where he can protect it.

And I know that no matter how much time I spend watching, listening, there will always be a maze of truth and secrets that will be his and never mine. And that's okay. He's earned the right to share himself as he sees fit without things being taken against his will.

It's so funny, what death does to a person, because I remember Rebekah telling me I would only learn what she would allow me to learn when I was trying to get her to tell me the story of the Originals, and I was so furious when she said that. I really, honestly felt that I had every right to know each detail and intimate fact of her family and the knowledge that I felt that way makes me squirm with shame and embarrassment. But I won't make that mistake again.

So I soak up each gift of knowledge he grants me, realizing more and more each day that there was so much about him that I missed the first time. And the strangest, saddest part of it all is that I find the subtle truths hidden inside our memories.

When he first fell asleep I wondered fleetingly what would happen. If I would be allowed to stay, or if I would go, but I didn't dim. Maybe he was dreaming of me. Whatever the reason, I was still there so I began to whisper to him.

"_Remember that day when you came over and found me and Jeremy being all lazy on the couch, still in our pajamas at two in the afternoon?" I snuggle down further into his pillow. "You completely flipped out and made us get up and get dressed, practically dragging us out to the car." I shake my head with a smile. "I still can't believe you made me sit in the backseat, telling my impressionable baby brother that women should know their place in life. Were you always such a caveman?"_

_Damon shifts closer to me and his eyelashes flutter. My fingertips ghost over his skin, from his temple to his cheek and he hums in approval. Must be a good dream. _

"_When you kicked me out in front of Caroline's house I slammed the door so hard, I have no idea how I didn't break the window." I laugh quietly. "I mean, honestly, how did you think I would react?" My voice drops in the way it always does when I imitate him. "'I think Blondie might have stolen your spunk, Elena, seeing as how she has plenty and you are down to…oh, I don't know, none.'"_

_My eyes settle on Damon's left hand, resting by his pillow with his palm up and fingers curled slightly inward. I lay my hand in his, slipping my fingers in between his long ones so we're threaded together._

"_I never told you, but you were right," I admit quietly. "I needed that day with her. To remember what it was to be free of everything, to have the biggest problem be deciding what color of paint I wanted for my toenails and arguing over the contestants of some dumb reality series. And somehow, you knew that. I just wish you hadn't given it to me in the most jerkish way possible, because I never thanked you for it, purely out of spite." _

_I look over the sharpness of his cheekbones, the smooth skin under the first hint of stubble on his jaw and I smile._

"_But you did that on purpose, didn't you?"_

_He takes a deep breath and the hand I'm holding moves down closer to his chest, right by his heart. _

"_Thought so," I whisper. "You realize Jeremy told me what you did, right?" _

_He clears his throat in his sleep and rolls over onto his other side, away from me. I scoot forward, sitting up enough that I can rest my chin on his shoulder. _

"_Nice try," I breathe. "He told me that you took him out to the Falls and shoved him off the cliff into the water. I wanted to strangle you when he said that, but…" I shake my head. "You should've seen the look on his face when he told me, Damon. He had so much fun and I know he'd never say it, but it meant so much to him. To both of us. You spent all day with him, making sure he remembered that there were still good parts to life. I…" Tears sting my eyes and I bite my lip. "I don't know what I would have done if it wasn't for you. And I know this is hard, that you're hurting, but there are still good things out there for you too."_

_His shoulder curls in and his brow furrows, my stomach twisting in worry. Please don't let him be having a nightmare right now. I snuggle closer. _

"_All I want is for you to be happy again. For you to know that one day you'll feel joy, that you'll laugh. To love someone who will appreciate you for all the things you are. You have a whole life ahead of you, Damon. I just want you to live it."_

He didn't sleep for long after I finished, his breathing picking up and limbs twitching restlessly. I hate that he can't find peace, even in sleep. And I don't want to know what he was dreaming about, not when it makes him shoot up in bed, gasping and his eyes wide. What caused him to take deep, steadying breaths to calm himself. But I don't have the right or ability to play dumb, because I do know.

I know because when he collapsed back down and scrubbed a hand over his face, the next thing he did was pull my necklace out of his pocket and study it as though it was an answer he didn't want to find.

I'm just glad he's not carrying it constantly anymore, because he was putting it in his bedside drawer when I flickered out of his room.

It's jarring to be pulled from place to place, even though it feels like being sifted through silk. It's a blink of a movement, soft and billowy and not painful, just alarming. Especially when you end up in a place you had hoped to avoid.

It's not that I didn't want to see Jeremy, I just didn't want him to see me. Best laid plans, though, I guess.

It was such a mess of a conversation. Both of us crying, me apologizing, begging him not to tell anyone that he could see me. He asked me why but seemed to understand when I told him that everyone thinks that I already moved on. That it didn't make sense to concern them with something that was beyond their control and would only cause them to be more upset. I promised him that I was okay, that I was getting the hang of the ghost thing and that we could talk as much as he wanted or needed. I thanked him for calling Damon, for checking in.

He gave me a knowing look and asked if that's where I've been, with Damon. I almost lied, but I'm not sure why. So I decided to tell him the truth: that it is Damon I've been with the most so far. But that I was there when they left for the funeral, during their goodbyes, and when Jeremy left for Denver.

He was quiet for a while, then he asked me a question I don't know the answer to. He asked me if I can move on, or if I even want to. I told him the most important thing was making sure that he and everyone else would be okay.

"_How can anything be okay, Elena? You're dead."_

He shook his head and got up from the edge of his new bed where he had been sitting, pacing the floor angrily. He stopped and spun to face me, telling me I was still his sister and he would always love me, but that he just couldn't believe that I would be so selfish as to leave him with no one.

I hung my head in shame, and then I was gone.

A flame put out, extinguished with a disappointed huff, waiting to be re-lit.

Existing, and then not.

I burned back to life in Bonnie's bedroom, seeing the date on her calendar and wondering if Damon's room and Jeremy's and hers were all the same day, nearly a week after my death, or if days were passing between. I still don't know.

But it was great seeing her, both Bonnie and Caroline. Stretched out on Bonnie's bed and flipping through scrapbooks, telling stories and memories and laughing through tears. I like my visits with them. I even see Matt from time to time. Not as often, but occasionally he strikes whatever match that brings me forth and we sit. One time it was all my childhood friends together, out at Tyler's swimming hole.

It's all stories, with everyone. Sometimes they talk to each other and I listen, sometimes they are quiet and I talk to them. I stay as long as I can, until I feel a familiar ache against my spirit and I flicker back to Damon.

I'm always on his mind, or at least seem to be from how often I am with him. And I'd rather be here than anywhere else. He's calming, very quiet and methodical.

On his good days he gets up, showers, cleans the house. He drinks two cups of coffee and one blood bag before switching to bourbon for the rest of the day. We sit on the couch and he reads, not hearing me babble on about the latest conversation I overheard between Bonnie and Caroline. He goes into his office behind the huge mahogany desk that makes him look like a lawyer on a power trip, leaning back in a luxurious leather chair while reviewing monotonous paperwork; all of them bills and things about accounts that I don't understand. I perch on the corner of his desk and tease him that he's secretly a geek, proclaiming that I _knew_ he did more at college than just sleep with the sorority girls.

At night he builds a fire and while he sits in a wingback and drinks from his crystal tumbler, I lay in front of the hearth, studying the reflection of the flames in his eyes and thinking about how gold and blue are the most perfect combination ever to exist. And when he climbs the stairs to go to his room I walk beside him, my arm looped with his as I thank him for a perfect, wonderful day. He sleeps, and I stay with him through his dreams.

I wish everyday was a good day, but more often than not, they aren't.

Some are torturously slow and distressing. Some days, he doesn't leave his room. Some days, he doesn't leave his bed. Not to drink, or to eat, or do anything. He just lies very, very still. I tell him all the good things I can think of, sweet and funny memories, stories of us and the little bit of time we had together that will never be enough. Sometimes I give up and just cry for him, because he won't. Not really. His eyes may water but he blinks it away. He doesn't say my name anymore either, although he doesn't have anyone to say it to except for me.

Stefan never came back.

I don't know where he is and right now, I don't want to. He never answers Damon's calls or texts, hasn't pulled me to him and even though I am unbelievably worried about what he's doing, if he's killing, if he's even _feeling_, I'm glad I can't see him because if I did I would probably make a deal with Esther in order to be able to smack the living crap out of him. Quickly followed by dragging him back to Mystic Falls, kicking and screaming, so he could be taken care of by all those that love him. People are supposed to band together to help each other with grief. That's what Bonnie and Caroline and Tyler and Matt are doing. They call Jeremy and he calls them.

But Stefan left his brother.

And no one calls Damon.

His loneliness is consuming him and I'm helpless against it. So I pray for the good days.

Today is one of the half-way ones, where he sleeps too long before he gets up, will shower but won't eat, sits but doesn't read. He's already two bottles deep in bourbon when the front door opens without warning.

I look up from where I'm beside him on the couch, but he doesn't flinch. My mouth gapes but his jaw remains locked, staring at the dark fireplace like maybe he can will the flames into being. Stilettos click on the wood floor and his eye twitches.

She struts around and stops in front of him, hand propped on a jutted hip and disgust rises in my throat.

"You look like hell," she says in my voice and he winces.

"Go away, Katherine." His voice is low and dry from too much bourbon and not enough blood, and he's not even looking at her, just through her. I lay my hand on his knee and squeeze.

"So pouty," she says with a frown that slides into a proud smile. "Where's Stefan?"

"Out."

"Well…when's he coming back?"

"Never."

He goes to take a sip from his glass, not realizing until too late that it's empty. Her eyes narrow as she watches him, the heel of her boot lifting from the floor like she can't decide if she should step closer or run.

"What happened to Stefan, Damon?" she snaps.

The corner of his mouth twists into what used to resemble a smirk, but now just looks sinister.

"Took a nose dive right into Ripperdom." The idea of what his brother is doing weighs heavy on my heart, and it feels like Damon is miming my soul when his left hand slowly comes up and levels out, then swoops down while he makes a sound resembling a plane crash. "Feel free to go save him any time. I'm sure he'd be thrilled to see you."

Katherine's back straightens, her eyebrow arched in her correct assessment that Damon is barely functioning. She needs to go, she's only making things worse for him.

She crosses her arms with a grin, pushing up her breasts that were already barely concealed by the scraps she's calling a shirt.

"Associate myself with an off-the-rails vampire capable of gaining the attention of every single person that wants me dead? I don't think so," she smirks. "Although," she starts and cocks her head, "a girl has to wonder why he would be off prowling the locals when he has dear, sweet Elena to keep him company."

"Elena's dead."

My head snaps to Damon, his face just as flatly stoic as before he stated the fact.

"Now, don't tease…" Katherine purrs and he looks at her, really looks at her.

I see her accept the truth as soon as he blasts her with everything he's holding in his eyes. All the pain, the rage, the helplessness and hopelessness and just pure _lost_-ness that is Damon today.

"Hmph," Katherine shrugs and hate burns through me. Damon looks away from her. "Never thought I'd see the day. Who killed her?"

"Up for debate."

"I'm sure it is," she mutters and grabs the glass out of his hand. She struts over to the drink cart and pours too much, drinking it all and refilling it again. "So, tell me, Damon," she says and pivots around to face him. "How long before you flipped your switch over her _tragic_ demise?"

Her voice drops sarcastically over the word 'tragic' and his thigh muscles tighten under my hand.

"I thought I told you to leave." He glares at the fire grate and I impatiently wait for the sound of her boots scuffing up his pristine floor.

"That's what I thought," she says to herself.

Her chin drops and back subtly arches, her stride long and with too much sway as she makes her way back towards him, drink in hand. If I had a heartbeat it would be hammering in my chest.

She passes him the glass, which unfortunately he doesn't throw in her flawless curls, and he takes a deep pull. Never to waste an opportunity and impartial to my abhorrence, Katherine leans forward so her hands fall on the cushion behind his neck, giving him the perfect view of what's down her shirt. If he were looking. I hold my breath because I know ignoring Katherine is dangerous, and she doesn't handle it well this time either.

I storm to my feet when her knee slides on the outside of his, followed by her other, settling herself on his lap while he closes his eyes and tears rake mine.

It's not fair that she can touch him when I can't. When she doesn't love him and I do.

"You look like you could use a friend," she whispers, drawing a manicured nail around the edge of his jaw until it settles under his chin, tilting his face up towards her.

"Katherine…" he breathes and I turn away, my arms hugged around my chest. "Get the fuck out of my house."

There's a crash behind me and I whip around, Damon heading for the stairs and Katherine picking herself up from the floor. She rolls her shoulders back and then she's in front of him, her hand fisting in his collar and pulling his mouth down to hers.

"No…" I whisper horrified, my hand stretching out towards him and I feel myself flicker.

He throws her off and I burn brighter, stronger.

"Get away from him!" I shout but she does the opposite, slamming Damon against the wall in a blur and forcing her lips back onto his. He growls and shoves at her but she pins his hands with over five hundred years of strength, her tiny frame taking what she wants, what isn't hers.

Her head tilts to find a deeper angle and I scream, my hands clawing at my hair and turning from the sight. I start to fade again and this time I welcome it. I can't stand this.

I close my eyes and wait, and wait, but I'm not disappearing. If anything, I feel more _here_ than I was a second ago and I don't understand. Why is this happening?

Unless…

Oh _God_.

He's…he's pretending that she's _me._

I peek over my shoulder and he's not resisting her anymore. He's _touching_ her, one hand cupping her jaw and the other pulling her hips against his. He flips them so she's the one trapped to the wall and he pauses, looking at her face and something inside me rips open, leaving a wound so ragged I don't think it will ever heal.

He kisses her gently, how he kissed _me_ on my porch and a sob tears from my throat.

Please, please let me go, let me dissolve into nothing.

I cover my face with my hands, but it doesn't stop me from hearing them. The moans, the sighs, footsteps stumbling up the stairs and clothes being shed along the way.

His bedroom door, firmly shut.

I curl into a ball on the floor. He never lets me leave.

* * *

An hour later, maybe more, maybe less, I'm pulled into his bedroom so I'm standing at the foot of his bed.

I'm shaking with anger, with revulsion, with pity. With guilt.

His chest is bare as he rests with a hand behind his head, staring at the ceiling with a sheet draped over his hips. His gaze falls to his left and mine follows, Katherine's naked spine rising and falling with her sleeping breaths, her hair fanned out over the pillow I laid on last night.

I shout something unintelligible and the tears start again, enough to obscure the vision of my copied body but not enough that I don't see him wince.

He throws the sheet off and I twist away, refusing to look at him when he just…

The shower turns on and I lose it, absolutely lose it.

I storm into his bathroom, right into his open shower.

"What am I doing here?!" I screech. "And what are you thinking, sleeping with Katherine? When I told you to find someone to love, I didn't mean her!"

His neck tightens and I know it the same time he does. She's awake.

"Well, that was interesting," Katherine says, stepping into the shower. I move out of her path but that leaves her clear to touch him.

"Get out," he tells her but she doesn't hesitate to wrap her arms around his waist, pressing her breasts into his back.

"Tell me, Damon," she says and kisses his shoulder blade. Never have I wanted to disfigure someone like I do at this moment. "At what point did I become Elena for you?"

His head turns the slightest degree, but he doesn't answer her.

"Was it the beginning, the end, somewhere in the middle or just the whole time? Because it was never like _that_, even when you _were_ in love with me."

He pushes her hands away from where they are drifting down his stomach, and she uses the opportunity to slide around to his front.

"Don't worry, I'm not jealous," she tells him with a breezy smile. She goes for a kiss and he recoils. "Consider it a gift. Now you can stop moping over some stupid teenager and get back to the Damon you really are, the one you'd rather be."

Black veins snake around his eyes and she laughs, a breathy little chuckle before she purses her lips against a grin.

"You're welcome," she whispers, her nails scraping across his chest in farewell when she struts from his bathroom.

Damon doesn't move. He's not even breathing as far as I can tell.

"You can't do this," I grit out. "Not to yourself, not to me. I know you're hurting but-"

His fist cracks against the flagstone wall, silencing me.

He shuts off the shower, wrapping a towel around his hips and moving to stand in front of his mirror. He leans against the sink and stares at his reflection, same as he did the first day I said I loved him and then realized I wasn't alive anymore.

"You have five seconds, so make them count," he growls and I freeze. "Five."

"Damon?"

"Four."

I step towards him, unsure what he's counting down to but something about it is sending acid surging through my body.

"Three."

"Damon, stop," I plead.

"Two."

He's shaking and I'm vibrant, so bright and alive that I wonder if I touch him if he'll feel me.

I lay my hand on his arm just as he utters, "One."

Stress bleeds out of his face and body, a shift happening behind his eyes and he straightens with an ease that sends me tumbling into memories of when I first met him.

"No…" I gasp.

His head tilts as he considers himself, a quirk smirk that I suddenly hate appearing before his lips pucker and he starts to whistle a nameless tune.

He turns to leave the bathroom and I flicker. I'm gone before he takes the first step across the threshold.

* * *

"So, Jeremy hasn't seen her?"

Caroline's voice propels me to open my eyes and I'm at the Grill.

"No, I told you. He said that not all end up _there_, some move on, find peace," Bonnie tells her. "We talked about this months ago, Caroline."

Wait, what?

_Months?_

"So weird…" Caroline mutters and I step closer to their table.

"What's so weird?" Bonnie asks.

"It's just…I just figured something might have happened to set Damon off. That's all."

"What do you mean 'set Damon off'?" Bonnie's brows pinch together and panic grips me. "What's Damon doing?"

"I went to the boarding house yesterday," Caroline says, looking guilty.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?" I ask before I remember there's no point in asking questions that won't ever be answered.

"Because, I realized that _none_ of us have talked to either of them since after the funeral."

Bonnie's eyes widen and I'm crushed in disappointment.

"That can't be right," she whispers and Caroline crosses her arms.

"Really? When was the last time you talked to Stefan or Damon? The last time Jeremy talked to Damon was when he got to Denver, and Matt and Tyler certainly haven't heard from them."

"Wait, so what happened when you went to the boarding house?" Bonnie asks and Caroline's mouth turns down.

"No one was there. I tried calling Stefan again but he isn't returning my phone calls so I still have no clue where he is, and when I got there the house was all dark and the front door was _locked_."

"That doesn't necessarily mean Damon is out of control, Caroline."

Caroline leans forward so she can speak quieter and I inch closer.

"I called him. And _Katherine_ answered."

I can't seem to make myself move anymore.

"Katherine?" Bonnie says skeptically. "Like, _Katherine_, Katherine?"

"I…I think they're in Europe somewhere."

"What?" Bonnie's shock doesn't begin to match my own, but Caroline is way ahead of us.

"There were people talking in the background and I don't exactly think they were in Little Italy, if you know what I mean."

Caroline straightens, taking a bite of her food and I have a sudden rush of anger towards both of them. Neither has called him or thought about him in months, and now they want to be concerned? Where were they when he was spiraling for weeks after I died? Where were they when Katherine dragged him into bed with her?

"Why would he do that?"

Caroline shrugs, but her expression betrays her. She clearly has an explanation and is eager to test it out.

I already know what she's going to say and I don't want to hear it.

I race towards the front door of the Grill, but I don't reach it in time to ignore her.

"He flipped it."

* * *

**A/N: _Hi, this is actually Trogdor19. Goldnox's whereabouts are currently unknown, something about hiding from readers in a bunker for the travesty of ch 4. She left a note apologizing and promising that this is going to be the worst of the worst, that it's all uphill from here. As much as it can be. There was also something about how karma and her guilt were propelling her to write a fluffy smutty DE one shot as an apology, and that she may be able to sneak into a populated area, under heavily guarded protection, to hopefully post that sometime next week. Here's to hoping. Trogdor, out. _**


	6. Kindness In Closure

**A/N: JUMPIN JANGO FETTS. I MEAN HOLY CRAP GUYS, SERIOUSLY. Just...the staggering amount and depth and length of the reviews for the last chapter, every single one amazingly supportive and pushing this story over the 100 review mark, I just don't have words to thank you enough. I'm so touched. **

**Many thanks to Trogdor19 for being sweetly brave enough to confirm my doubts about this chapter but also fixing it beautifully, frankensteining all the way. Down pants and coats and industrial sized heaters that fit inside golf carts and a sea of Ian Somerhalders wearing Carhardtt for you.**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Kindness in Closure**

Time moves slowly when you don't exist. You'd think it would be fast, fading between random moments, but it's not. Not when the only thing to fear is what you can't control, who you can't see.

I have no idea where he is, how he's doing. I have my suspicions, but no way to confirm them. The worry stretches fragments of seconds into long years because wherever Damon is, he isn't thinking about me.

At least Jeremy is doing well. He is thriving in Denver and we talk occasionally. He tells me about school, his friends, his girlfriend. It's nice to have someone that can hear me, see me. He's grown so much in the last two years I almost can't recognize him. His hair is long enough that he keeps it tied back in a ponytail, stubble coating his jaw and a tattoo that peeks out from under the sleeve of his t-shirts. He looks rough and dangerous, but his smile is the same.

Bonnie and Caroline now share a dorm at college and I laugh with them as they fight over decorations. Every single semester. They hung my picture on a collage board that Caroline made and all three of us cried, me standing beside them as they clung to each other. It's always the first thing they hang up when they move.

I saw Stefan once a few months ago. It wasn't for long and I'm not even sure why I was there. He was in a bar and he smiled at a girl. She smiled back, and that was it. I was gone, just like that. I hope that wherever he is, he's happy. Maybe he's even in love. I like to think that.

But I can't seem to stop waiting for Damon. Each time I feel myself beckoned I hope, but it's never him. I miss the weeks when we were together at the boarding house, even the bad days. I miss everything about him. I've come to accept that I don't think I _can_ move on without knowing he'll be alright.

So I just wait.

* * *

I hear a key in a door and I turn.

I'm in my house in Mystic Falls. I haven't been here since Jeremy moved out. I wonder if it's him, coming home to pack up the house. Last time we talked he said he was going to sell it, although I'm not sure how long it's been since our conversation.

The front door opens and I gasp.

Damon walks in confidently, shutting the door behind him. His hair is shorter, but he's still clean shaven, black shirt and dark jeans and boots and a leather jacket that I know would smell like him, if I could smell it. But I haven't forgotten.

He looks completely, exactly the same.

He goes to turn on the overhead light in the foyer and the bulb sparks then pops, keeping everything dark. His brow furrows and then he scoffs.

"I've missed you," I tell him.

He answers by strutting into the kitchen, turning on lights that stay lit and taking off his jacket, setting it casually on the kitchen table. I can't believe how much I've missed something as simple as his walk.

"How have you been?"

I don't get a response to that either. And I know better than to ask questions, but I can't help it. I follow him as he heads into the living room, turning on the stereo to some blaring rock station. He raises the volume so the music pounds through the house, and I don't understand. Damon likes the quiet.

He glances at the ceiling once and rolls his neck.

Oh.

This house is _too_ quiet for him.

Why didn't Jeremy hire someone if he didn't want to do this himself? Why call Damon?

I…I don't have words for what this means. For all that Damon is telling me by how carefully he packs up my house.

He's careful with all our personal things, wrapping glasses methodically, even sorting kitchen utensils into a labeled box, throwing nothing away. His hands linger in so many of the same places mine would: the spoon I smacked him with when we made chili, the chef's knife that he always used because he said it had the best balance, even after Jenna stabbed herself with it. But his hands move impersonally over objects that still bring tears to my eyes: my dad's old green coffee mug with the oversized handle that fit his big fist, the blue flower vase that I imagined was made of pure sapphires when I was a little girl.

Thorough and systematic he moves: the guest room that was first Jenna's and then Ric's, Jeremy's bedroom, my parents' suite, the living room and the bathrooms. He dawdles a little in the basement, the attic and the garage. Flipping through papers and sorting valuables and historical artifacts from the collected years' worth of junk. I smile when he finds the Christmas decorations and tell him the stories behind the ones he looks a little longer at. The ones with my name on them that I made as a kid. He doesn't look at the pictures.

It's well past dark by the time he's finished and when he turns off the music he's been playing all day, I wonder if he's going to leave and come back to finish tomorrow. But instead he heads up the stairs, going back to my parents' room. Stopping inside the doorway he glances around like he's looking for something.

"Damon, what's going on?"

Suddenly black veins twist onto his cheeks and his eyes focus, sharp and intent on the closet. I don't get it, there's no one here and if there was he would have confronted them already.

His stride is all predator when he heads into their walk-in closet and turns on the light, his gaze sweeping over bare shelves and empty hangers. He goes in further, crouching down in the corner and knocks. I hear the echo that tells me it's hollow.

No way…

Damon removes the panel with ease and when I look over his shoulder, my mouth gapes. It's a cache of weapons, stakes and an axe and things that vow death. I always assumed my parents didn't know about the hidden closet in the lake house that Stefan found, I wanted to believe that. But now I know for certain: they were more than aware of what prowls the streets of this town during the night. Because we didn't move into this house until I was six.

"Figures the father of the girl I love would be a fucking hunter," Damon mutters and begins pulling out the weapons, setting them on the floor beside him.

Did he just…?

Is his switch back on?

"Bet you would've just loved me, Grayson."

I kneel behind Damon, aching to hold him, to touch him. He pulls out the last of the stakes and pauses, scrubbing a hand over his face. I wrap my arms around him, hiding my face in the space between his shoulder blades, closer than I've been in_ years_ and tears claim my sight.

"I'm here, Damon," I whisper. "And _I_ love you."

He replaces the false panel and rises to his feet, the weapons he found gathered under his arm. I sigh at the distance between us and follow, unwilling to lose sight of his form after so long of wondering, worrying.

I catch up to him in the garage, shoving all the dangerous things I never knew my parents owned into a sports duffel. He takes it back inside to set it on the kitchen table, beside a bottle of bourbon that he found in one of the cabinets but didn't pack away. I think because it was Ric's. And his first sip is fast, but the swigs become increasingly longer and I wish I didn't know why.

He's about to go back upstairs.

He confirms my suspicions after drinking half the bottle, his steps slow and timid the higher he gets on the staircase. He hesitates outside my closed bedroom door, flexing his outstretched hand before it connects with the knob.

"Do it," he growls to himself and with a slow twist of metal inside his palm, my door swings open.

A rush of breath escapes his lips as he leans against the doorjamb, taking in every detail of my dark room.

Nothing's been touched.

My red curtains frame the night that is coming in through the windows, my bed made and teddy bear settled against my pillows. There's a pile of jeans and shirts on the bench of the window seat he claimed as his spot. My makeup and my hairbrush are still on my vanity, just waiting to be used. Two mugs are on my desk, long since dry.

I look down and realize his hands are shaking. I take one and squeeze.

"I'll be with you the whole time," I tell him quietly. "We'll do this together."

He pushes off the frame and retrieves the mugs, looking at them questioningly. He holds them a little closer to his face then his expression shifts into fury. He must smell whatever it was that Matt slipped into my tea, some latent trace of the concoction spilling a secret he didn't know.

"Nice to know you were drugged in your last moments," he mutters. "Should've fucking known."

"It didn't change anything, Damon," I say hastily. "I still would've come to you."

He storms out of the room and down the stairs, and I wince when I hear the crash of the mugs being thrown in the sink. He returns after a few moments, empty boxes in hand.

He goes to my closet first, anger melting out of his shoulders as soon as he opens it. He fingers the sleeve of one of my Henley's and inhales deeply, blowing his breath out slow and controlled. He's careful, his touch light when he starts to remove items from hangers and fold them, laying them into one of the boxes he brought. He's even more tender with my gowns, treating them like they're breakable. When he's finished and moves to my dresser, I blush deeply.

I really appreciate him trying to be detached and almost professional about the way he gathers and moves my delicates: panties and bras and a few pieces of lingerie. But when he finds the black and red corset the corner of his lips turn upward.

"Stop fondling my underwear," I tell him with a smile and lightly smack his shoulder. His grin grows when he sees the tag is still on and I have to admit, it's so nice to see him like this that I wish I had more hidden away.

It seems a little easier for him afterward. He chuckles at my mass collection of scrunchies and obscene amount of earrings, shaking his head at my hoard of purses and shoes. He gently removes and wraps all the ceramic figurines off my bookshelf with a "Really, Elena?" and "Who knew you had this much crap?" and it may be the best thing I've heard in a long, long time. Like he's focusing on the good and not the harsh truth of what he's doing. Maybe he's pretending I'm just moving, not gone. I'm more than okay with that, whatever helps him get through this.

And as embarrassing and awkward as this should feel to have him seeing every single thing that ever belonged to me, it just doesn't. It feels right, like he _should_ see these things, hold them, discover them on his own. I want to share my memories, the life I lived, with him and though he can't hear me as I tell him the history about the objects he finds, he seems to just know.

I realized too late that Damon always understood me better than anyone. He saw the pain and guilt I carried and he recognized it for what it was, because it's the same he's been burdened with for far too long. But that's not all he saw. He knew that under it was a girl who loved to laugh, was a little more reckless than responsible, who feared staying still too long. Who had a temper and was stubborn, and capable of being malicious or manipulative if the time called for it. He knew I wasn't the perfect sister, the perfect daughter, the perfect student or the perfect _anything_ and I think to him, that was what made me perfect.

I'm distracted from my musings when there's a thump from behind me. I turn to see Damon holding my horse painting, taking down the last of the items from my walls.

"Well, well," he says and sets the painting down, propping it against the wall where my bed used to be. "Crafty little thing, weren't you?" he mumbles and bends to pick up my journal from the floor.

My muscles lock and I have a raging desire to snatch it away from him, but at the same time I'm secretly hoping he'll read it. There are a lot of things about Stefan that I'd rather him not see and I'm sure he doesn't want to know, but there's so much in there about Damon that I never told him. The secrets I couldn't tell anyone, so I wrote them down where they were safe from judgment.

His thumb sweeps over the "E" on the cover and I wait, wondering what he'll do. His head tilts, but then without anything further he grabs the painting with the other hand, heading downstairs with the last of my belongings. I breathe a sigh of relief, and regret.

It's all business from then on. Loading all the boxes and the furniture into the moving truck in a completely systemized, Damon way. I'm so curious at how many houses he's packed, how many times he's moved because he does it so easily that I'm more impressed than I ever thought I could be at such a mundane thing. But when Damon does it, I can't stop thinking about how this strong, smart, capable _man_ loved me, and still does.

He must. That's the only reason I can think of to explain why he takes the time to patch over all the holes in the walls, to sweep the floors and wipe down the counters, to vacuum the carpet. To change the light bulb in the entryway.

He makes one final pass over the house, checking closets and corners and tapping panels for any other hidden nooks of weapons before heading to the basement. He flips the breakers and turns off the water, shutting the door behind him. He checks all the locks and the windows in my empty house, a shell of what it once was.

It's a quick stop in the kitchen to grab the nearly empty bottle of bourbon, his jacket, and after slinging the duffel bag of stakes onto his shoulder he's striding towards the front door. I hurry to stay with him, afraid of being left behind but I step outside onto the porch the same time he does, watching as he locks the front door behind him.

He doesn't delay, going right for the moving truck and climbing in.

And he doesn't look back, but he takes me with him.

* * *

"You must be exhausted," I say with a frown when he collapses on his bed at the boarding house after a long shower.

It was a short drive to the storage facility where he unloaded everything, thankfully not using the one where I died, and by the time it was all locked away the sun was well over the horizon. I figured he would want to go straight home afterward, but instead he went to the bank.

There's something oddly funny about seeing Damon in a place that human, kind of like how I couldn't stop giggling the first time he and I went grocery shopping together. But everything that seemed comical today melted into warmth and adoration when I watched him put my mother's jewelry into a safety deposit box. And that was only the beginning.

Never, _never_ did I realize just how much he's been doing for Jeremy, for me. Not until he got to his lawyer's office. Mr. Henry looked just like he did the last time I saw him, a stack of papers and weighty pen in his hand, or on his desk, rather. They shuffled them back and forth, Damon reading and signing along with writing a few checks for the last month's balance of water and utility bills, which apparently he has been paying since my death. He told Mr. Henry when it was time to take care of the taxes on the property to send them to him and he would take care of it.

Mr. Henry just nodded and handed Damon a piece of paper, explaining it was the amount the bank agreed to purchase the house and land for. Damon scoffed but signed anyway, and afterward I watched him write a check to _Jeremy_ for more than the amount he had been shown. _A lot _more.

I was still in shock when Damon asked if the other deeds and accounts were prepared, taking the manila envelope he was handed. He checked over the papers, appearing to be satisfied, then slipped them back into the envelope along with the check he wrote to Jeremy and the keys to both the storage locker and the safety deposit box. He shook Mr. Henry's hand and then we left.

"You should get some sleep, you had a long night," I tell him when his eyes droop close, his head on his pillow. His eyes reopen without warning, like he suddenly remembered something important.

He groans a little when he rolls out of bed and I pout. He _never_ gets enough rest.

"Damon, whatever it is, it can wait," I whine from where I'm sitting against his headboard, observing him as he goes to the duffel bag of stakes and weapons he set down in the corner. I sit up on my knees as he roots around inside it. "What are you doing?"

He straightens and I'm abnormally relieved to see that it's not wood in his hand. And then my chest tightens when I see the color.

It's my journal.

"You were supposed to pack that away," I admonish, crossing my arms when he falls back into bed, propping a pillow behind him so he's sitting up with a knee bent. I bite my thumb nail while he looks at the cover, turning it over and checking the back. He twists it back and forth a few times, then lays it on the sheet beside him with a huff. His fingers tap on the cover, then he glances back at it and cocks an eyebrow.

"Journals are supposed to be private," I tell him. But has Damon ever done anything I tell him to? No. He usually does the opposite. And true to form he snatches it up by the leather strip that keeps it closed and it pops open at his purposefully rough handling.

He grins and I shove at his shoulder.

"Jerk."

He opens it and I settle against him, my head resting on his shoulder. His fingertips brush over the letters, feeling them embedded in the paper by the pressure of my pen and I have this sudden crazy embarrassment over the quality of my handwriting. Damon writes so classy and I'm all loops and swirls, bubbly and girly. It looks so young and I duck my head a little, tucking my hair behind my ear.

He's quiet in the beginning, reading about the summer after my parents' death. How I didn't feel like I could breathe, how scared I was over everything. How I worried about endless details like who would help me pick out colleges and my major, who would teach Jeremy to drive and how I would explain to a new guy that he couldn't meet my parents because they were dead. Just how completely alone I felt and thought that it would never end, never change.

I wrote that I was different. That everything that used to be important suddenly wasn't and I resented the people who didn't realize that their lives were vapid and shallow because they could focus on things like shopping for clothes and going to movies and bickering over curfews. How ashamed I became of the frivolous little life I had led before it all crashed around me. And mostly, how jealous I was of the people that continued on their merry way, none the wiser about the darkest parts of life and how much I wished I could be them. To be able to forget and be back in the before, when everything was bright and simple.

And then it did change, but it didn't exactly brighten and it sure didn't get simple.

I expect him to skip over the Stefan parts, but he doesn't. He reads steadily about how I fell in love with his brother. How much Stefan took me out of my shell and began to breathe life back into me. How I relearned what it was to feel excitement, to laugh and forget that not everything was awful all the time. And how he accepted me, darkness and all. The way he didn't flinch at my parents' demise and he didn't treat me like a leper because of it, because he carried darkness with him too. I loved how much we shared, how easy it was to talk to him and how it felt like we had known each other for so much longer than we had, even at the beginning. It just worked, and it worked so well.

I sneak a peek at his face and Damon doesn't look upset or angry, he looks almost pleased, possibly proud. But I must be crazy because there is no way that he's glad about how happy Stefan and I were together.

Then again, Damon was always considerate of my happiness, as long as I was safe first. Maybe seeing why I loved Stefan so much is good for him, to understand what that relationship was built on and that even though things went pear-shaped, I wouldn't have been the girl Damon fell in love with if I hadn't met his brother. That I would have been quiet and shy, not fearless. That I wouldn't have loved Damon the way I do if I hadn't loved Stefan first. Maybe, if I'm really lucky, it'll even help their relationship to see that though they fought over me, at different points in time they were each the best thing for me.

There is a natural order of things and as messed up as it is, I think I had to learn to walk with Stefan so I could run with Damon.

Even if at first I was running in the opposite direction, as fast as possible.

I glance back at the journal to see where he is in the timeline and he just passed over Vicki's death. I grimace, knowing what he's reading.

He surprises me by chuckling to himself, his thumb hovering over where I had written his name.

"God, you really hated me, didn't you?" he mumbles and I curl in closer to him.

"You didn't give me much of a choice," I say quietly.

"Don't necessarily blame you, though," he adds and I look up at him. He still doesn't look troubled at what he's reading, just calm and like it's telling him something he needs to hear. I hope they're good things.

I read along with him, reliving it all. Damon and Caroline dating and learning about vampires. Finding Katherine's picture and going to Georgia, the 50's Decade Dance and opening the tomb. How sad I felt for Damon when he learned about Katherine's betrayal. How scared I was for Stefan after feeding him my blood to save him from the tomb vampires. Dancing with Damon. Isobel saying he was in love with me and him kissing Katherine on my porch, thinking it was me. I've wondered so much what happened that night. What he must've said, the words from him that she stole from me.

He takes a deep breath when he reads about my curiosity, and I wish he would tell me now. But he turns another page and continues on.

He cringes when he gets to him breaking Jeremy's neck, and the seemingly endless ranting pages where I cursed his name. He reads about me finding myself friends with him again, about my terror at being kidnapped by Rose and how his face looked when I came down those stairs. How relieved I was to see him, to know that I was safe, and how much I wanted to hug him too. But I just…couldn't.

His fingertips hover over a passage from that night, when I talk about my necklace showing up but not knowing how I got it back. How my window had been closed, then it was suddenly open. That I was terrified that I had been compelled, and I didn't know by whom.

"It was probably nothing, just stress," I sigh and look at Damon and I freeze. His lips are pursed against a grin and if he didn't look so smug he would probably look guilty. I _know_ this look.

"You didn't!" I screech and sit up. "That was you?"

"Fat lot of good that shit did me," he mumbles. "One little werewolf bite and I'm spilling my guts like I was roofied."

"What?"

But he just shakes his head and turns another page, reading something about Rose and the sacrifice while I try to put together what he said.

When he had the werewolf bite, when he was delirious and asking me to tell Stefan he was sorry and…he told me he loved me.

I mean, I had already known that when he said it. But now I can't really remember what made me so certain about the fact when we always seemed to be fighting. But I knew, _I knew_ that he loved me.

"That's what you compelled me to forget?" I ask as he ignores me in favor of reading about the sacrifice and Jenna. "You told me you loved me and took it away? Why would you do that, Damon?"

I look over his face, remembering how heartbroken he looked when he told me there was something going on between us and I swore up and down that it was always going to be Stefan. Anxiety twists in my stomach and I wonder what I said to him when he declared himself to me, how I responded. If that's why he took it back.

I close my eyes and a tear rolls down my cheek. Because I'll never know.

I go back to my spot on his shoulder, my mind racing and not really paying attention to the words on the paper anymore. My sight stumbles on each different time I wrote his name, cropping up more and more the further he gets. Some things are scribbled out and there are many blots where I let my pen sit still too long, unsure how to explain everything he was making me feel in the midst of the chaos of my life. But he's there on every page, nearly every line. And at least he's reading it now, the tightrope of fear and affection I walked with him. Every single day.

Exactly how much he consumed me.

He turns a page but the next is blank and my heart breaks for him. He turns another, and another, but he already knows the ending to my story and it isn't written in this book. It's on a rock in a cemetery, standing guard over a hole that he dug and filled.

He fans through the remaining pages anyway because Damon is nothing if not thorough and the tag off my luggage from our flight to Denver falls on his chest. He picks it up and studies it and I blush, remembering.

"Thought so…" he murmurs with a grin and tucks it back into my journal.

He closes the clasp and sets the journal on his nightstand, turning off the light. It's dark in his room with the curtains drawn, even in the day, and he turns over, repositioning the bedding so he's more comfortable. I snuggle down into the comforter next to him and he's already asleep, stretched out on his stomach and arms hugging his pillow. My fingertips trail his spine, loving the sound of his relaxed and steady breaths.

"I can't tell you how much I've missed you," I whisper with a smile. "And wherever you've been, whatever you've been doing, I'm just glad to know you're okay."

I press a kiss into his shoulder and he moans contentedly, the last evidence of strain leaving his tired muscles.

I hope I'm still here tomorrow.

* * *

**A/N: So, a little better? Uphill slope, gently, from here on. Unless the drunken muse decides to go on an angst rampage and fucks with my plot line, but we'll see. And that fluffy smutty one shot I promised? Soon, my sweets. In the frozen hands of my ever talented beta right now. Keep an eye out for it, tons of snuggly feels to be had. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing, and don't forget to hit those alerts so you'll know when that one shot drops in! Happy reading! **

**-Goldnox**


	7. Gifts In Goodbyes

**A/N: Seriously, there is no way to thank you all for the support for this story. I am truly, truly grateful. And for continuing on our uphill slope, how about a little bromance? **

**Thanks as always to the spectacular Trogdor19, who somehow found time to beta this for me despite work and a much awaited reunion happening today. *telepathically sending you a pot of beans***

* * *

**Chapter 6: Gifts in Goodbyes**

"Where are we?" I ask when we stop in front of a house.

We've been driving for a couple days, long enough that I stopped paying attention to signs. I was having way too much fun watching Damon sing along to the radio, tapping his ring against the steering wheel with the beat.

I did my best to rein in my jealousy while every single diner waitress he encountered shamelessly flirted with him, and how he took advantage of the fact by sneaking out to the parking lot to feed off them. I know he needs blood to survive and he never hurt them, but the sounds they _all_ made have me thinking they were getting more out of it than he was. Whatever. They don't get to be next to him at night and they don't know how special he is, what it's like to be loved by him, and I do.

He grabs a manila envelope from his bag before he gets out of the car, and a smile lights up my face when I see the name on the front.

"Really?" I ask as we walk up to the front door, my voice high and excited and I can't even say exactly why. I just know this is good, that he probably needs this. Maybe they've kept in touch without me knowing. I hope they have.

Damon knocks and the front door opens, my brother's hardened glare greeting us. I look to Damon and he's staring at Jeremy like he could kill him.

"What the hell?" I ask and then Jeremy's face shifts, a laugh falling out of him as Damon cracks a small grin. "Oh, for the love of God," I mutter and roll my eyes.

"It's good to see you, man," Jeremy says and steps outside, his right hand clasping Damon's before they share a quick and heart-melting man-hug, one fist between them and the other clapping each other on the back. Jeremy winks at me over Damon's shoulder and I beam at him before I can help it.

"How you been, kid?" Damon says and releases Jeremy, grabbing his arm to peek at his tattoo and following it with a smack upside my brother's head. "Besides needing one hell of a haircut."

"We can't all be as suave as the great Damon Salvatore," Jeremy jibes.

"Infamous," Damon says, then cocks his head. "Although great works too."

"Whatever, man," Jeremy chuckles. "Want to come around to the back?"

Damon gestures for Jeremy to lead the way and doesn't say anything about the lack of an invitation inside the house. It must sting him even more than it hurts me, but at the same time, I know we both understand. Jeremy's been free of vampires for a long time now. Just like we wanted for him.

We settle at a patio table on the back porch and as soon as Damon sits a Labrador comes barreling towards him, viciously barking and I leap back at the sound. Damon spares a quick glance at the main house then turns back to the dog, gleefully growling at it with his fangs fully out. The Lab recoils with a whimper at the sight of sharp teeth and black veins, scampering off to hide back in his dog house.

"Dude!" Jeremy exclaims, but he sounds more amused than angry.

"What? He came after me first," Damon says with a shrug, his face already clear of his supernatural side. Jeremy just shakes his head. "So, you want to do the small talk bullshit first or you want to get right into it?"

"Damon!" I scold but Jeremy is just chuckling quietly to himself.

"You really haven't changed at all, have you?"

"I'm sorry, would you like me to go buy a housedress and bake you some cookies, sit you on my knee and have you tell me about the monster in your closet?"

"Personally, I think you'd look great in a housedress," Jeremy tells him and I bite my lip, waiting for Damon's reaction.

"And clearly dressing up like a biker doesn't hide the fact that you're still the same punk kid who needs his ass kicked."

"Shut up," Jeremy grins and Damon shrugs.

I prop my elbow on the table, resting my chin in my hand and just bursting with happiness from seeing them together. It may as well be the summer we shared with Alaric, all over again.

"Seriously though, they let you get away with that look at school?" Damon asks and Jeremy leans proudly back in his chair.

"They do when you're graduating with honors in the top five percent of your class, not to mention scoring a full ride to NYU for an art showing I did on campus last semester."

Damon eyes widen as he nods, trying not to act shocked or impressed though I can see how proud he really is. I couldn't believe it either when Jeremy told me.

"Nicely done, Gilbert," Damon tells him and I see Jeremy's smile stretch just the slightest bit more at the compliment. "But remember, I have no way of knowing if vampire blood will heal VD because I'm immune, so have fun but don't be stupid."

"Oh my God, Damon!" I squeak and Jeremy bursts out laughing.

"Bet that comes in pretty handy, huh? The immunity?" Jeremy says once he settles a bit and Damon cocks his head at the question. "I just mean…" Jeremy takes a deep breath. "You know, who knows where Katherine has been."

I suck in a breath which was probably all the air that was left at the table, both of them staring at each other in a silent show of dominance. My eyes flicker back and forth between them, terrified that what started out as a wonderfully friendly visit is going to end with someone bleeding involuntarily. And it's any guess as to who.

After what feels like forever Damon finally leans back in his chair, hands folded in his lap.

"Fair enough," he says quietly.

"Look, Damon, I get it-"

"No, I don't think you do," Damon snaps at him, sitting forward and pointing at Jeremy threateningly. "I know she was your sister, but when you bury the love of your life maybe then you'll start to understand. And for your sake, Jeremy, I hope you never have to."

Jeremy swallows and I lay a hand on Damon's arm.

"Please calm down," I tell Damon softly, then turn to face Jeremy. "Please don't pick a fight, he did what he needed to in order to survive. And even with as much as I hate Katherine, I don't hold it against Damon and you shouldn't either."

Jeremy scoffs and Damon twitches.

"What? You got something to say, then spit it out."

"Nothing, it's nothing," Jeremy tells him.

Damon blows out a breath and falls back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Look…" Damon starts, tapping his fingertips awkwardly against the armrest. "The truth is, Jeremy, I fucked up. I took the easy way out when it got to be too much and I never meant any disrespect to you or Elena, okay?"

I look at Jeremy, my eyes pleading for him to understand how hard this has been on everyone and his resolve wavers.

"Okay."

"And I haven't even seen that crazy lying bitch in well over a year and I have no desire to, ever again."

"I said okay," Jeremy says forcefully and Damon nods at him.

"Fine. Anything else you want to get off your chest before we do this?"

Jeremy is suspiciously quiet and Damon narrows his eyes at him. I do too.

"Whatever the relationship was between you and her, Elena cared about you and she would never want you to be unhappy," Jeremy says and Damon swallows. "But I don't think she'd want you to abandon your humanity either. Just keep that shit in mind."

It takes a while before Damon utters, "I know."

"Then we're straight," Jeremy says and I swear, I have no idea when he became a man but it's clear that's who is sitting across from me.

Damon says nothing but slides the manila envelope out of the interior of his jacket and tosses it on the table between them.

"What's this?"

"Your inheritance."

"What do you mean my inheritance? I asked you to take care of the house."

"When your dad died, he left the estate to John Gilbert. When dear Uncle John passed, everything went to Elena."

"Okay…"

"Your sister died intestate," Damon says without inflection and Jeremy's brow furrows. Damon just rolls his eyes at him. "Without a will, Jeremy."

"Oh," my brother says. "So, what happened to the estate?"

"Well, that's the thing. Technically it should have passed to you, however you were a minor at the time and the Commonwealth of Virginia didn't think you were exactly qualified. So I took care of it."

I smile at Damon and then at Jeremy, who looks flabbergasted.

"You've been managing my family's estate?"

"Did you think the Easter Bunny was doing it? Wake up, kid. There is no Easter Bunny."

"Just guardian angels masquerading as vampires," I whisper to Damon and Jeremy's eye twitches at my comment.

"So," Damon continues, "the house is taken care of. Everything is packed and in storage, there's a key in the envelope if you want to go back for any of it. The only thing that's not there is your mother's jewelry, which is in a safety deposit box and needs to fucking stay there until you come up with a reason that doesn't involve eBay."

"Okay," Jeremy tells him and I have no doubt that he's going to do exactly as Damon instructs.

"We went ahead and just sold the house and the land back to the bank because I didn't feel like finding a buyer and all that other crap, so the deed is transferred and there's a check in there in your name."

"Really? Just like that?"

"Just like that," Damon tells him. Jeremy goes to pick up the envelope and Damon slaps his hand down on top of it. "That's a lot of money in there, Jeremy, so don't be an idiot. I'd say use it for school but it sounds like school is already paid for."

"It is."

"Then use what you need for living expenses and put the rest away. Your dad wasn't stupid, he had some good investments but your uncle was a moron and damn near lost it all. I, however, am _not_ stupid and everything is almost back to where it was before your father died."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that you didn't just inherit a house. There's money there. A good chunk of it, thanks to Grayson and yours truly. And I will show you how to manage it, and even make more without having to lift a finger so you can concentrate on school and art or whatever and will never have to flip a burger again. But if I find out that you're bankrolling trips to the Bahamas for your buddies every other weekend there is going to be hell to pay."

I laugh quietly and look at Jeremy.

"You should take him up on his offer. Damon is an investment geek and is _loaded_ because of it."

"How much money are we talking about?" Jeremy asks and Damon lifts his hand to release the envelope. Jeremy opens it and takes out the check, his eyes popping at the number.

"Holy shit," he breathes.

"Welcome to the big boys table," Damon smirks and I smack his shoulder.

"Why is this check from you?"

"Bank paid me for the house since I took care of it, so I'm passing it on," he says with a shrug and I sneak a glance at him. "There are some other papers in there, one is an account where the investment profits are getting dumped but you don't need to do anything but let that shit just sit there and it will grow like a weed, all on its own."

"Okay," Jeremy nods, starting to look at the other papers and not noticing the look I'm giving Damon.

I figured the bump he wrote into the house check was the investments. What the hell?

"This says it's a deed for a property," Jeremy mutters at a packet and Damon sneaks a grin before he gets caught. "There are two of them in here. Did we have property in New York?"

"Sure, why not."

"Damon!" I say stunned, because I know for a fact that we didn't own anything outside the state. Jeremy's head snaps up and Damon is playing the picture of innocence.

"You're really going to lie to me?"

"Yeah…" Damon drawls, and I'm bouncing with impatience to hear what he's going to say. "Here's the thing, Jer. NYU dorms suck and they're going to kick you out to make room as soon as they can anyways, so you may as well have somewhere to go. The second is an empty warehouse space which you can use as a studio or a gallery or for dancing in women's clothes. I don't really care."

"These are yours?" Jeremy confirms quietly.

"Nope. Yours."

Jeremy shakes his head and drops the papers. "I can't accept this."

"Too late, the deed's already in your name," Damon smirks and Jeremy looks pissed. "And it was just sitting there, may as well get some use out of it."

"Take it, Jeremy," I plead.

"Why are you doing this?" Jeremy asks and Damon scoffs. "And how did you even know I would be in New York?"

"Birdie told me. And I'm sorry, but do you have some hidden father, secret uncle, magical mysterious guardian or older brother that's taking care of this shit?"

"No, but you're not-"

"Jeremy," I growl, cutting him off before he finishes that sentence.

"Not what?" Damon asks.

"You don't…you don't have to do this, take care of me, or whatever this is."

Damon sighs and I want to hide my face because I can tell this is one of those moments that he and Jeremy have that makes me feel like a total Peeping Tom for invading.

"My other screw-ups aside, I know what she would want," Damon says quietly. "So let me do this. For you and for her."

Silence stretches between them and I wish I could hug them both, telling them to hold on to each other. But I can't so I look at Jeremy and nod with tears in my eyes.

"He's right," I whisper with a smile. "This is what I want."

"Thanks, Damon," Jeremy says sincerely and a breath of relief rushes from me.

"Thank you," I tell my brother.

"Yeah, well, just don't screw it up by getting yourself in trouble. And when you _do_ get in trouble you fucking call me and we'll take care of it. Oh, and stay away from Billy's when you're in New York."

"What's Billy's?" Jeremy asks, the tension broken as if it never existed.

"A bar," Damon says, then his voice drops. "And a feeding ground."

"Got it."

"Good."

"Hey, Jeremy?" a female voice says and we all look towards the back door where my mom's childhood friend is standing. "Oh, sorry, didn't realize you had a friend over."

"Karen, this is Damon," Jeremy tells her and she smiles appreciatively. Too appreciatively. What is the deal with that?

"Nice to meet you, Damon," she says sweetly and Damon winks at her. I smack him on the shoulder with a glare and Jeremy chuckles before he can stop himself. "Jeremy, we need to leave in a few minutes."

"Yeah, I'll be right there," he tells her and she flashes Damon one more wide smile before heading back inside.

Damon cocks an eyebrow at my brother with a mischievous grin and Jeremy looks like he wants to gag.

"Gross, dude. She was friends with my mom."

"Hey, no judgment from over here," Damon tells him and I roll my eyes. "So, you good?"

"Yeah, man. I'm good," Jeremy nods.

Damon pats the table twice and rises, and Jeremy and I join him. Damon pivots to leave but stops halfway through. He clears his throat and I grab his hand, trying to give him the strength to say goodbye to my brother because deep down, I know he doesn't want to.

"Your sister, she'd be proud of what you're doing, with school and everything," Damon tells him and I smile, loving that he's only awkward when it's too emotional for him.

"I'm very proud," I beam at Jeremy.

"Thanks."

"And for Christ's sake, cut your hair," Damon grumbles and turns to leave, striding towards the side of the house that leads back to the front yard and street.

"I'll see you later, Jeremy," I tell him and hurry to follow Damon.

"Hey, Damon!" Jeremy calls out and Damon stops, doing a half turn to face my brother. "She'd be proud of you too."

I suck in a breath, overwhelmed with gratitude for my brother.

"Thank you," I tell him from the bottom of my heart.

But Damon just chuckles to himself, shaking his head.

"I'll see you around, Jeremy," he tells him and turns back to leave.

* * *

It has taken almost a whole bottle of bourbon for Damon to unwind after leaving my brother's house. He's been drinking glass after glass at a nearby bar, not even bothering to flirt with the blond bartender that looks like she'd be happy to pour herself right into his lap if he'd give her the chance.

I'm not even sure what it was that set him off, exactly. All I know is that he's upset.

"Shit," he mutters after looking at his phone, and he's up with jacket in hand and money on the bar before I can even register that he's moving.

I have to half-run to keep up with him as he slides into his car and has it backing up and pulling onto the street in less time than it would take me to buckle a seatbelt, his right hand shifting through the gears a little too sharply for how careful he normally is with his transmission. He dodges around slower cars, stomping the accelerator through a yellow light and even though I can't die, I'm gripping the dashboard with nerves, his glancing head looking at street signs more than the road.

"What the hell is the hurry?" I grit out as he takes a turn too sharply for my body to stay upright, sending me crashing into the door with enough force that I know it would have left me bruised if I was alive.

I look out the windshield to try to figure out where we're going, and we're pulling into a jammed parking lot. I look back at Damon whose jaw is locked as he spares another glance at the time and mutters a curse under his breath, my eyes stinging with tears now that I've realized where we are. He parks quickly and his strides are long and powerful as he heads to the double doors, not seeing me slide past him to sneak inside when he pulls it open.

Sound assaults us, a loud roar of applause followed by a man calling out a name I don't recognize.

Damon's steps slow as we move through a deserted hallway until he finds another set of double doors. He takes a deep breath and I loop my arm with his, my smile ear to ear when he opens the door.

The stadium-sized room is filled with people, parents and grandparents and siblings and aunts and uncles and cousins and friends. Laughing, crying, cheering and all so, so proud. Waving at the line of graduates in queue for the stage, all dressed in burgundy robes and diamond-shaped, flat-topped hats with tassels dangling on one side.

Damon shuts the door gently behind us, moving to stand against the back wall. I stay beside him, wiping my eyes to try to find my brother. It takes me a minute but I finally see him.

He's near the front, joking with a couple of guys in front of him that he towers over. He throws his head back in a laugh and I see his ponytail is tied and swishing down his back. He turns to lightly jostle the guy behind him and I gain a glimpse of the set of gold ropes draped behind his neck and hanging down his front, distinguishing him for graduating with honors.

My baby brother. The emo punk kid who smoked pot and drowned himself in angsty music and blew off class so he could get drunk and got fired from his job so he could hang out with vampires and werewolves and who beheaded a hybrid with a meat cleaver on our front porch and buried his whole family and… And somehow, he did it. He grew up and he's going to have the life he wanted and dreamed of. The life that I wanted for him.

The line he's in moves forward, the guy in front of him giving him a fist bump before going up the steps when his name is called.

And then I hear it, the sound I wish my parents were here to absorb with me.

"Jeremy Gilbert…"

I swipe at my eyes to clear my sight, clapping and shouting my cheers for him when he makes his way across the stage, accepting his diploma and shaking the hand of the man at the microphone. His head turns and cameras flash from the family that's taken care of him these last two years, Karen and her husband and their two younger sons jumping up and down and waving. But he's not looking at them.

He's staring at me in the back, broadly smiling the same grin I've known since he was born. I mouth that I love him and he gives me a slight nod before he turns his tassel, standing a little straighter before he crosses to the other side of the stage.

I glance to my right, at Damon, who is fighting back a smile but instead of having his arms crossed, he is slowly, and quietly, clapping.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! We're a little over the halfway mark, I'm thinking a nice even 10 should round us out :) (11 with the prologue). And the one shot is here! Check out Let It Rain if you're up for some fluffy, snuggly romance with Damon and Elena, spending a nice long morning in bed during a thunderstorm. Thanks again, and happy reading!**

**-Goldnox**


	8. Bonds of the Bereft

**A/N: Good morning sweet peas! Once more, thank you all for such a mind-blowing response to this story :) So...Caroline decided to invade and hijack my chapter, and I for one am really glad she did. Hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it! **

**This chapter was beta'd with imaginary popcorn gobbling and ear piercing squealing by the popsicle of a human with a talent for making me laugh until I choke, Trogdor19. And I will never stop sending you productivity halting pictures, no matter what. *lick lick nuzzle and sniiiiiffffff***

* * *

**Chapter 7: Bonds of the Bereft**

Long years pass. A decade and a half, maybe more. It's hard to tell. They are years that I'm not supposed to have, but wouldn't trade for anything.

We travel a lot.

Rome. Paris. Dublin. Berlin. Moscow. Rio. New York.

He likes the big cities, plenty of people to feed from without drawing attention. Nightlife to keep him busy. Shopping for more leather jackets and black shirts and dark blue jeans. Some things never change, and I love that.

He runs into people, other vampires, he used to know. They'll share a drink and maybe a dance, even a hello kiss on occasion. I try to give him his privacy just in case he wants to take it further, but he never does. It doesn't really bother me because I think maybe it's just his way, what he's always done, like how he kissed Bree when we first got to Atlanta. And I'm still with him the whole time. I know who he loves, and it's nice to think that maybe they're hugging him for me.

It's fun and interesting to listen to them laugh and reminisce about how out of control he was, talking about the fights he started, people he threatened, and I listen in awe of the authority he commanded. They ask if he really took on the Originals and when he shrugs, pride and gratitude flows through me. And somewhere in the conversation their glances at his face will linger a little longer, like they all seem to know something has changed in him, but they never ask.

I wish their visits would last longer. That he had more people telling him to take care of himself. It's so ironic: the vampire who wanted to be hated by everyone is loved by all that truly know him. I wish they heard my voice and saw my smile when they leave, always expressing how nice it was to meet them. But they don't.

And when he eventually gets tired of the noise, the crowds, when he stays in more often than he goes out, we move.

Kinbrace, Scotland, where there is nothing but land for miles; rocks and cliffs and hills and grass and wild, roaming animals between distant farms.

Wejherowo, Poland, to a cabin in the woods that reminds me of Mystic Falls, a few miles from a town that looks medieval when it is lit up at night.

Kristianstad, Finland, where he rents a house on the beach.

A remote island in Indonesia. A hut in Tobago. Another cabin, but in Alaska.

And every time we move, the first thing he does is take a long drink of bourbon and whisper that he wishes I was there. And I always respond with a smile and a hug, promising that I am.

We went back to Mystic Falls once, a few years after Jeremy's college graduation.

For Tyler's funeral.

Klaus had dragged him into a fight that no one escaped from except for Klaus himself. And the only reason we didn't lose Caroline along with Tyler was because Klaus had her detained beforehand as a precaution. When Jeremy called Damon to tell him the news, my heart broke. For Tyler. For Jeremy. For Matt. Mostly for Caroline. I didn't know how she would ever survive his loss. And I never expected Damon's reaction, but I guess I should have.

He thanked Jeremy for calling him and then packed the house faster than I've seen him move in a long, long time. He couldn't cross the oceans quick enough in his race to get back to Virginia. And I didn't understand why, until he got there.

I arrived a day ahead of him with a pull from Matt, and Caroline was barely holding it together. It reminded me so much of how Damon ceased to function the first few weeks after my death. She couldn't speak at the funeral apart from her heart-wrenching recitation of _Funeral Blues_*. She couldn't seem to register anything: not the pleas of an adult Bonnie begging her to eat, to speak, to show any emotion whatsoever.

When Damon showed up she burst into tears. Screaming that she couldn't take it, that she needed him to end it for her because he was the only one that could. He listened to her beg, her voice saying over and over that she couldn't do it herself but he was her sire and she'd never asked him for anything, but she was asking for this. To take her pain away.

I watched his jaw wind tighter the longer she went on, hoping that he wouldn't grant her wish. In the end he said my name. That he couldn't do it because it's not what I would want for her. Caroline's grief blasted into rage.

Caroline swore that even though she knew he never cared about her, mentioning me was beyond cruel, even for him. Then she did what I think he expected her to do all along, why he rushed to get back so quickly. She cursed him and said that if he wouldn't take away the pain, she'd find another way.

No one was able to do anything but watch as Caroline flipped the switch on her humanity.

It's something I never want to have to witness again.

But Damon was there, and he was prepared. And when we left Mystic Falls, he brought Caroline with us.

Six months of moving from city to city. He took her feeding but stopped her before she killed. He looked the other way while she satisfied every basic, primal urge she had, even sometimes compelling the men for her that came stumbling out of her bedroom in the morning. Six months he let her run from her pain, her grief, her denial, everything, except from his watchful eye.

Until he got her to turn it back on.

The night it happened I followed them to a rundown shack of a house, boards over the windows and a notice of it being condemned on the front door. He took her around to the back where they snuck inside and I never expected it to contain what he showed her, and I don't want to know how he found it.

A group of teenage girls sat huddled on the floor, some of them bruised and bloodied and all of them dirty, dangerously skinny. One by one he compelled them for their names and how they had gotten there. The stories were all slightly different but still startlingly the same: they either had no parents to look for them after they were taken against their will, or just ones that didn't care to find them. Some of them had been sold into the prostitution ring. They all had been forced into a life of abuse.

I still feel sick every time I think about it, but by that point Caroline was so far gone, I don't know if anything else could have reached her. And there's no one but Damon who could have gone through with it. I know I couldn't have.

Caroline started to wince and shudder more with each girl they talked to, and soon she was holding back tears, commanding Damon to help them. He looked her straight in the eye, and he told her no.

I listened to her gasp as I covered my mouth in horror, and I know she believed him, because I did.

He said the only person that could save them was her, but why would she want to if she didn't care about anyone, anything, anymore?

She was shaking with her inner battle to keep her humanity off in the face of such heinousness when the man holding them hostage arrived through the back door.

Caroline killed him, and Damon didn't stop her.

When it was over they helped the girls out of the house, and after the last one ran to freedom Caroline collapsed, overwhelmed with it all. She broke right there on the decrepit lawn, screaming and crying and clutching at her chest.

Damon carried her home.

He kept her with him while she waded through the storm of emotions she was endlessly slammed with. All her guilt. Her fear. Her shame and always, always, the pain.

He was tough on her, he always has been, but I think that's because of the respect he has for her. The hope. That she'll be better than him, and better than Stefan. That even though he didn't plan on turning her, he saw her as one thing that maybe he did right because Caroline is an incredible, strong vampire. She has control and she has heart. She can take care of herself and she never gives up on those she loves. She is the best of everything human and supernatural, all in one package.

She came back to herself in time, laughter replacing tears and bickering with Damon over a thousand things that didn't matter, instead of all the things that did. Instead of men stumbling from her room in the morning when she was sad about Tyler, it was empty shopping bags and her closet-full of clothes being tossed over the banister as she complained that once again, she had nothing to wear.

He'd grumble and tell her to be quiet and leave already, that the sound of her voice was worse than Bonnie's witchy migraines. And when he would inevitably get up to refill his glass of bourbon, she would blur down the stairs and swipe his credit card from his wallet, left on the table by the seat he just vacated. He'd shout a curse and her name as the front door slammed behind her on her way speedily out, but every time she started to get a little down, taking out her loneliness on her wardrobe, his wallet would end up on the side table instead of his back pocket.

The bond they formed defies labels. Not quite friends, but not enemies. Secretly protective, outwardly dismissive. Like a brother and sister who despise being stuck together, except they are together by choice and neither of them ever acknowledges that. They wouldn't dare. But I know that every time they swear they hate each other, it's the exact opposite.

I think at first it was a relationship of obligation, then convenience. Eventually, it's become a comfort. Because even after Caroline moved out, just two years shy of Tyler's death, she and Damon still keep in touch. Every few years they find each other when the isolation becomes too much and they never outright ask for help, but they never turn each other away. It'll be months of arguing and threats, maybe even a brawl or two, but mostly it's just someone to share the silence with. The hours that stretch into forever.

And she's the only one that's ever gotten him to talk about me.

It was only once, both of them roaring drunk on tourist blood and Ouzo** as they tripped and sashayed back towards the villa on Santorini that we were staying in. They were still passing the bottle back and forth when Caroline pulled him in the direction of the beach, plopping down on the sand and tugging Damon down beside her.

"_Tyler would've loved it here."_

"_Buzzkill," Damon mutters, swiping the bottle back from her._

"_You don't think Elena would've liked it? Girl loved to party." Caroline stops and tilts her head. "Well, maybe not as much when you knew her. But before her parents died? Whoo…" she says dramatically and sweeps her arm over her head. _

_Damon snorts a laugh and takes a long pull, and I have no idea how either of them are going to get back to their respective beds if they keep this up._

"_You never talk about her," Caroline says with narrowed eyes and Damon shrugs. _

"_It's not like it's going to bring her back."_

_Caroline scoffs. "That's so not the point. You could at least say something nice. Come on, one little memory?"_

"_Why? You knew her longer than I did. Tell your own memories. Silently."_

"_Please?" she pouts at him and I know that any second he is going to tell her no and then he'll leave; it's only a matter of time. _

_But he takes me by surprise when after a minute he hands her the Ouzo, offering quietly and with a small grin, "She was afraid of needles."_

_Caroline smiles, shrugging casually. "I never knew that."_

_He clears his throat and hardens his expression and voice when he tells her, "Klaus, that Original hybrid, pathetic excuse for a walking creature, may he die a painful and drawn out death-"_

"_Hear, hear!" Caroline cheers and raises the bottle approvingly. _

"_Twice," Damon continues, picking up steam, "he kidnapped Elena and tried to drain her of her blood. The first time he had her in the hospital so a nurse could keep her drugged through the whole thing. After that, no more needles."_

"_Wow," Caroline mutters and doesn't even protest when Damon takes the bottle from her. "Wait, how do you know she was afraid of them?"_

_Damon cocks his head with a smirk. "Because…" he eventually says after a long drink, Caroline looking at him pointedly when he fails to continue. _

"_Seriously, Damon?" she says, irritated. "'Because?' That's it?"_

"_Have you always been so nosy?"_

"_Yes," she tells him proudly, seizing the liquor and I laugh heartily. "Now spill it. How do you know she was afraid of needles?"_

_I tuck my knees under my chin, watching his hands sift through black sand and gather it in his palm, holding it for a moment before he lets it slip through his fingers and fall back to the earth_

"_That last summer," he starts, his voice low as he dusts his hands off, "she started doing this thing where she would wince every time she'd eat or drink something. And in true Elena fashion, she'd brush it off and tell me it was nothing whenever I caught her doing it."_

_Caroline snorts a laugh. "That sounds like Elena," she says and Damon tilts his head at her in agreement._

"_After a few days of that going on, I told her something I can't even remember just so she'd get in the car, and I hauled her stubborn ass to the dentist."_

"_I bet that went over real well," Caroline deadpans and I blush, dropping my face to my knees. _

"_You're not kidding," Damon chuckles and when I look up to enjoy in the sight, I see him taking the Ouzo from Caroline. "I had to threaten to eat the receptionist just so she'd let them check her out, because she was terrified they were going to drug her." He shakes his head and Caroline's grin falls a little bit. _

"_So, what happened?" Caroline prods gently and after a long swig, Damon passes the bottle back to her. _

"_Needed a root canal."_

_Caroline cringes and I shudder. _

"_Oh it gets better," Damon smirks and it's really not fair that I can't be irritated about him spilling embarrassing secrets when he's talking about me with that sweetly nostalgic look on his face. "So we make the appointment for something like two in the afternoon a week later, her swearing up and down that it wasn't even necessary because she would be fine by then. Which I pointedly ignored for obvious reasons."_

_Caroline laughs and holds up her hand for a high five, and Damon just stares at it. Her grin fades into a scowl, her hand dropping back to the sand. _

"_Fine, be like that," she grumbles and I can't help but laugh. "Did she go back?" Caroline asks and I smile at what I know is coming next, even though I thought it was the furthest thing from funny at the time. _

"_Yep. Although not exactly by choice."_

"_Oh this sounds good," Caroline grins and Damon leans back on his elbows with a sigh, watching the waves roll in under the moon. His eyes close with a sloppy smile and his head lolls back, like he's soaking in the sun even though it's nearly three A.M. _

"_I knew there was no way in hell I was getting her back in that office without her throwing the world's most dramatic hissy fit, so I took care of the 'being conscious while it happened part.'"_

_Caroline sputters through her last sip. "What does that mean?" _

_His grin grows to pure mischief. "I got her wasted the night before."_

_Caroline throws her head back laughing. "You didn't!"_

"_Elena may have been able to hold her liquor while she was drinking, but once she passed out there wasn't anything that was going to wake her up," Damon tells her confidently and Caroline cocks an eyebrow at him. _

_He rolls his eyes at her and I snicker. _

"_Which means," he tells her, sounding insulted, "that when I loaded her in the car at six the next morning, having brilliantly re-scheduled the appointment without her knowledge, she was still passed the fuck out." He takes the bottle from Caroline, and I swear he's only doing it for a dramatic pause, because he looks way too satisfied when he finishes with, "At least until I put her in the dentist's chair. And that was when she decided to wake up."_

_Caroline gasps and covers her mouth with her hand, and Damon lets a full smile take his face even as he takes a long drink. _

"_It was five full minutes of threatening to stake me, much to the confusion of the nurses, before they came in with the anesthetic. Packaged in a nice pointy needle."_

"_Oh no…" Caroline mutters and this time I cover my face with my hands, remembering._

"_Oh yes. Her little tantrum went to an atomic level bitch fit, until I suggested to the nurses that they take the easy way out and just gas her into submission."_

"_Wait, what?"_

"_Nitrous Oxide," he grins deviously and I smack him on the shoulder. "Elena couldn't handle anything that didn't come out of a glass bottle with a proof count on the front. Hell, she'd be cartwheeling down Main Street after a couple of aspirin. And the stuff they used…" He shakes his head. "It's not for the lightweights."_

"_Please tell me you recorded this," Caroline smiles and takes the liquor from him, and Damon shakes his head with a laugh. "Why not? I would have…" Caroline says and my mouth gapes as I stare at her. _

_Damon's quiet for a little longer than makes me comfortable, and without warning he groans and sits forward, his arms draped over bent knees._

"_She wouldn't have wanted anyone to see her like that. Because it was bad," he drawls out, lightening the mood as he snatches the bottle back. _

"_How bad?" Caroline asks, and I still can't believe that she is getting him to talk like this._

"_The beginning of one terrible joke blending into the punch line of another, so an entire conversation was like a puzzle of match games trying to piece together what was supposed to go with what. Plus, she kept asking me how they got biscuits to taste like chicken." _

"_What the hell is that supposed to mean?"_

"_I still have no idea," he says, shaking his head with another laugh and I wonder if I could die all over again from mortification. "She wasn't supposed to have anything solid to eat, but she wouldn't stop talking about food so when we got back to the house I figured I'd make her a shake so she'd have something to keep her occupied. And more importantly, quiet."_

"_Uh huh," Caroline grins._

"_Little did I know, there is a right way and a wrong way to make one."_

"_Gonna need a little more info here…" Caroline says and Damon passes her the Ouzo._

"_Neapolitan ice cream. Chocolate, strawberry and vanilla, right?" Damon says and Caroline nods. "So since it's all going into the blender and it doesn't make a damn bit of a difference, I'm just scooping it in there without paying attention to the fact that I was getting all three flavors per scoop. Until Elena walks in and starts losing her mind."_

"_Why?" Caroline drawls and Damon looks at her with a completely dead-serious expression like whatever he is about to tell her is the most obvious thing in the world._

"_Because, you have to put it in one flavor at a time, in a particular order, otherwise it doesn't taste the same."_

"_What?" Caroline screeches._

"_You're fucking telling me," he says exasperated. "She would not quit nagging, pouting up at me with her puffy cheeks and mouth all swollen. I thought she was going to cry until I threw it out and re-did it the 'correct' way."_

"_And you really made it again?" Caroline teases and my heart melts. Because he absolutely did._

"_Shut up," he grumbles and takes back the bottle while Caroline giggles uncontrollably. "Got her to be quiet, didn't I?"_

"_Whatever, Damon," she snorts and they fall quiet for a little while. _

_He doesn't tell her about suffering through endless Disney movies with me the rest of that afternoon, or how he took care of filling my prescriptions and giving them to me at the right intervals. How he listened to me whimper about the pain and made me perfect milkshakes for days, always in the right order. _

"_So, I have a question," Caroline says and we both turn to look at her, Damon handing her the Ouzo. "You said this was in the summer, right?"_

"_Your point?"_

"_Why didn't Alaric or Jeremy take her to the appointment? Or make her OCD milkshakes afterwards?"_

_Damon narrows his eyes at her. _

"_I just mean-"_

"_Yeah, I got it, Blondie," Damon says and turns back to the water, his jaw tight. _

"_I don't think you do, Damon," she says sincerely. "Because she had a list of people that would have jumped to take care of her, and she chose you."_

_Damon scoffs. "She didn't choose me, Barbie. Maybe you didn't get that memo." _

_He holds his hand out for the bottle and she slaps his hand away._

"_Wake the hell up," she snaps and my eyes widen. "She could have sent you off and called me at any time and did she? No. I didn't even know about this!" she says, her voice getting louder. She shifts to sit up on her knees, gesturing in his face. "And something tells me this wasn't the first time something like that happened and you, not anyone else, were the one who took care of her. Am I right?"_

_Damon doesn't answer, the muscles in his jaw flexing under the strain of his glare._

"_Thought so," she says and huffs out a breath, her body sagging. "I mean, I know I didn't exactly condone you hitting on her all the time, but do you really think she didn't care about you?" _

"_Fuck you," he spits at her and she crosses her arms. _

"_Is that because you know she did, or because you don't?" she says smugly and he blasts to his feet._

"_You don't know shit about me and Elena, so stay the fuck out of it," he growls at her and turns to leave. _

_She scrambles to follow and I do the same, really hoping this doesn't end in violence, but it's not looking good. _

_She grabs his arm to stop him and he throws her off, but rounds to face her._

"_What the hell do you want from me?" he yells and she flinches, but then that same steely resolve I've always known strengthens the line of her spine against his fury. "There is no point in questioning whether or not she may have ever cared because she's dead, Caroline. She's fucking dead, and that's it. I watched her take her last breath, I heard the last beat of her heart, and I put her body in the ground. There is nothing left of her except for a journal and a necklace and you know what they both tell me? How much she loved my brother!" _

_Caroline's face softens, and I'm not sure if it's the effect of the alcohol but her eyes look a little more misty than they did a second ago._

_Without a word she wraps her arms around his chest and squeezes him, tucking her head under his chin, and it reminds me so much of when I hugged him after we opened the tomb and again after Rose died. He didn't respond to me then and he doesn't to her either, just standing there and looking shocked at the display of affection. _

"_You're right," she tells him delicately and he blinks a little too quickly, his hands clenching into fists by his sides. "I don't know anything about your relationship with her. But let me tell you what I do know," she says and pulls back to look him in the eyes, holding him by his shoulders. "I know my best friend, and yes, I know she loved Stefan." _

_Damon swallows tightly but doesn't reply. _

"_But Elena's heart was too big to love just one person," she tells him fiercely. "And no matter what anybody says, she wouldn't spend that much time talking about someone who isn't her boyfriend, spending time with him and trusting him to take care of her, if she didn't love you." _

"_She's right," I whisper, unable to stop myself. I watch Damon's face, knowing Caroline's doing the same, seeing his emotions war between wanting to believe her and unwillingness to let himself hope._

"_So put that in your blender and mix it," she smirks and lets him go, Damon chuckling a bit before he scrubs a hand over his face. _

"_I really can't stand you, you know that?" he tells her and she smiles._

"_Don't worry, I hate you too."_

_He nods once and together, they make their way back home, me behind them the whole way._

* * *

I'm sitting on the couch beside Damon when Caroline comes in through the front door. We're currently at the apartment in New York he keeps, the three of us staying here for the past two months after Damon's depression took a turn for the worse and I asked Jeremy to call Caroline, telling him to hint at whether she had seen Damon lately. She showed up on the doorstep a week later, much to my relief, and has been pissing him off enough to burn some life back in him. He hates looking weak in front of anyone so when she's around he eats better and takes care of himself more than when she's not. It's so backwards but I don't even care as long as he's getting out of bed.

His eye twitches at hearing the door close and I sigh. Here we go.

I glance back at Caroline and she has a proud look on her face, hip jutted and plethora of shopping bags in hand, fanning herself with a black AmEx. His name printed on the front.

He's up and towering over her in a second, snatching his card back before I can blink.

"Hope you had fun in those dressing rooms, because all that shit is going back tomorrow," he growls, stomping back towards the couch and not seeing as she rolls her eyes.

"Sure it is," she mutters and I bite my lip against a snicker.

He says that every single time and never has he followed through on making her return any of it.

"What's got you in such a delightful mood?" she asks, dropping her bags by the front door and coming into the living room.

She plops down into a chair across from him and rests her designer-heeled feet on the coffee table, which he immediately kicks out of her reach so her feet drop to the floor ungracefully.

"Hey!"

"Deal with it," he grumbles. "Or, you can get out."

"You really need a hobby, you know that?"

"What, like shopping with someone else's money?"

"Ugh," she sighs and gets up, chucking a pillow at him which he immediately bats away. She struts back towards the entryway, picking up her bags and going to put them in her room.

"I don't know why you always have to pick fights with her," I mumble and rest my head on his shoulder, waiting for him to reopen his book so I can pick up reading where we left off. He opens the cover and stops, his head turning towards her room.

"Stop cutting the tags off!"

"Too late," she calls back sweetly and he curses under his breath, turning back to the page we ended on.

"Just ignore her," I tell him.

Suddenly Damon's whole body stiffens, Caroline blurring out of her room to stand next to him.

"Did I just hear…?" she whispers and he nods.

"I think so."

"What's going on?" I ask worriedly and Damon stands, striding around Caroline so he's positioned between her and the front door. I notice that she has a stake in her back pocket and I have no idea where it came from.

The door knob twists slowly before it opens and I gasp.

"What are you doing here, brother?" Damon asks, shifting his weight so a peeking Caroline is more fully shielded.

There hasn't been a word spoken between them since Stefan left the boarding house all those years ago, and I know Damon's been worried about Stefan and how deep his downward spiral would continue to go. Not knowing what would have to happen for him to hit bottom. We've all been worried.

But right now Damon looks more concerned with trying to decide who he's seeing: Stefan or the Ripper, and he's not willing to risk Caroline being used as a pawn if it's the latter.

Stefan's eyes narrow as he takes in their position, but then seems to cast it off as he focuses on his brother.

Stefan's face falls and pain lances through his eyes. Damon takes a step forward.

"Stefan?"

He swallows as though he's preparing himself, his voice broken when he utters, "Katherine's dead."

* * *

*** Funeral Blues**

**By W. H. Auden**

_Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,_  
_Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,_  
_Silence the pianos and with muffled drum_  
_Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come._

_Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead_  
_Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'._  
_Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,_  
_Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves._

_He was my North, my South, my East and West,_  
_My working week and my Sunday rest,_  
_My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;_  
_I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong._

_The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,_  
_Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,_  
_Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;_  
_For nothing now can ever come to any good._

** **Ouzo, a well-known traditional Greek drink, is very strong liquor. It is best _sipped_ out of a shot glass straight, on the rocks, or diluted with water. It is famous for the major hangovers it produces the "day after" and should be taken with some care.**

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**A/N: Thanks so much for reading! And don't forget to fave and follow with those amazing reviews you all have been blessing me with! So greatly appreciated, see you next chapter! **

**-Goldnox**


	9. Proof in Promises

**A/N: *skips happily* Do you have any idea how awesome all of you are? I mean, really. Long, thoughtful, emotional reviews in a story with NO sex and no Damon POV and Elena is dead and it's all angsty and sad and YOU'RE STILL READING? What did I ever do to deserve this much love? And major shout out to all guest reviewers. ESPECIALLY to whoever used the guest reviewer name Goldnox Lover. That shit made my night. *high five* **

**MANY gratuitous thanks to Trogdor19 for beta'ing after driving seven hours so we could get this to you guys today, setting up shop in a Barnes and Noble and breathing fire on their padlocked electrical outlets, clutching her jacket and entire chapter to her chest to keep from sharing some deeply personal reactions. THAT is one hell of a dedicated beta. Everyone should send her a mass out pouring of My Little Ponies via reviews for her incredible story _In Time We Trust_. You'll love it, trust me :)**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 8: Proof in Promises**

Four little innocuous letters. Two vowels and two consonants. Separate, they mean nothing. Together, they mean everything.

Dead.

No one has moved since Stefan's announcement about Katherine.

Because…it's _Katherine_.

Always one step ahead, able to outrun an Original for over 500 years. Willing to sacrifice anyone, lie to anyone, betray anyone, to save herself.

"_Better you die, than I_," she told me once, and I've always believed that of all the things she ever said to me, that was possibly the only time she was telling the truth.

And now she's dead.

I glance at Damon but all I can see is his profile, head tilted as he stares at his brother. His jaw is tight and his chest is rising and falling easily, no stress in his breaths.

"You look like you could use a drink," he says to Stefan and turns, heading towards the wet bar he keeps in the corner of the room. Caroline's gaze follows him and he barely nods at her, silently telling her it's okay before he begins to pour three glasses of bourbon.

"That's all you have to say?"

"Nope," Damon says and turns, strutting back with drinks in hand to stand next to Caroline. He hands her a glass and holds a second one out to Stefan who doesn't move to take it. "I see you're still using that same horrible gel in your hair. Don't you think it's time for a little change?" He looks down at Caroline. "What do you think, Blondie? A Mohawk? I know…" he says and faces Stefan again. "How about a buzz cut?"

"I tell you Katherine is dead, and you want to talk about my hair?"

Damon shrugs and takes a drink from his glass. "It's more entertaining than the weather."

Stefan shakes his head like he's disappointed and I just…

I burst into tears, completely overwhelmed.

I wish he and Damon could have a better reunion, one with laughter and jokes and maybe even a hug, but even I knew that was never going to happen. But even still, I'm so glad to see Stefan. It's been _years_ and I thought he was off killing people, emotionless and alone, but he doesn't have that loose, cold look of having his switch off. It is a relief that takes the breath right out of me.

But that also means that he's feeling, and he hasn't thought about me once. And I want him to be happy, I want him to have peace, but…we _loved_ each other. And with how he's reacting about Katherine it's making me wonder about everything that he and I were, what I was to him, and I hate that. I don't want those memories tainted by questions.

No. There _has _to be an explanation. I know how much Stefan loved me, how much he was hurting after I died. Damon went off with her for over a year after my death and it didn't mean that I was a replacement or a substitute. It meant that she was.

I glance at Caroline, wondering how she's taking all this. She and Stefan were so close when I was alive, with all he did to help her when she first turned, and I know how much he meant to her. She calls him all the time, but he never answers.

I know she's been worried, hurt by his refusal to acknowledge her. I also know Caroline thinks it's because she reminds him of me, which makes everything so much worse. That he can't see her for who she is, not who she used to know. She deserves better than that but Caroline is Caroline, and she has never given up on him. She's never stopped calling.

She eyes Stefan warily, her brow knitted together. But her mouth is a tight line and I have no idea if she's going to hug him or slap him. Maybe both.

As I watch she shifts her weight to her right foot, leaning infinitesimally closer to Damon. Stefan's gaze snaps to her and Damon smirks as Caroline lifts her head.

"I see…" Stefan mutters and glares at his brother. "No wonder."

"It's not what you think, Stefan," Caroline says steadily and Stefan gives her the same disappointed look that he gave Damon.

"What are you even doing here with him, Caroline? You hate him. You always have."

"That was a long time ago, Stefan. Maybe if you would return my phone calls you'd know what's been going on."

"Not that it's any of your fucking business," Damon sneers. "So thanks for the good news and the drive by, feel free to leave five minutes ago."

"Damon," Caroline warns and he waves her off, setting the glasses roughly on a table while storming to his bedroom. His door slams and I wince, Caroline closing her eyes with a sigh at the sound.

"Caroline, I-" Stefan starts, stopping when she holds up her hand to silence him.

"No, you don't get to talk. First, you listen," she fires off and Stefan swallows. "You do not get to come in here and tell Damon that I do not care about him. He is my friend and he has consistently been here for me since Tyler died."

"Tyler…?"

"I said listen," Caroline growls and Stefan's face falls in regret, in guilt. It's a look he wears too comfortably, he always has. "And if you're upset about Katherine, then I'm sorry, but you don't get to dictate how other people feel about her death. Especially your brother, when you have no idea what she put him through after Elena died."

Stefan looks confused and I'm sure it's the same look I'm wearing. I guess it's possible that there are things that Caroline knows about Damon's relationship with Katherine that I don't, I just never realized that.

I'm still trying to figure out if there was a gap of time I missed somewhere along the way when Stefan's voice distracts me.

"I'm sorry, Caroline. I didn't realize-"

"Of course you didn't," she glares at him. "How could you? You've been gone for _seventeen_ years, Stefan, and not once have you tried to contact either of us. Do you have any idea how worried we've been?"

Stefan hangs his head, his eyes pinched closed and I see Caroline's anger fade right out of her shoulders. She takes a deep breath and sets her glass down before she crosses the distance between them and stretches up on her toes, wrapping her thin arms around Stefan's neck and hugging him tightly. He waits for a moment before he returns it, a single tear dropping into her hair.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"Don't be sorry," she tells him quietly, pulling back to look at him. "Be _here_."

Stefan nods and she lets him go, moving to sit on the couch. I sit next to her as she curls her feet under herself, looking completely relaxed as she props herself on a throw pillow. Stefan watches, then sits in the chair across from her, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.

"I'm sorry about Tyler," he offers gently. "I wish I would've known. I should've been there for you."

"Thank you," she says with a soft smile.

"How? When?"

"About eight years ago," she tells him quietly. "Klaus…" she says and swallows. She wipes at her eyes and tosses her hair, sitting a little straighter. "What happened with Katherine?"

"Klaus," he says and Caroline and I both shake our heads.

"Were you…?" she asks and Stefan tilts his head in confusion. "Were you _together, _together?"

Stefan's head drops for a moment before he glances back up at Caroline, like he's waiting for a lecture. But she doesn't say anything and he leans back into the chair.

"For a while," he admits and she nods. "She was helping me learn control."

"How's that going?" Caroline asks and the corner of his lips turns up.

"It's not easy. I still struggle, but I'm getting there. I can stop," he says and the hint of pride in his voice brings a supportive smile to Caroline's face that I can feel mirrored on my own.

"That's great, Stefan," she says sincerely.

"Thanks," he says timidly. He lets out a deep breath and glances around the lavish apartment. "Have you been here long?"

"A few months," she shrugs.

"I uh," he starts and clears his throat, "I went to Damon's old apartment that he used to keep here, but there was no one there and I couldn't get in."

Caroline shifts a little. "You should ask him about that."

"I saw you today, and I followed you. I didn't realize you would both be here." He looks a little ashamed and she smiles sweetly at him.

"Well we are. And I'm glad you're here too. You're welcome to stay."

Stefan shakes his head. "No, it's okay. I know Damon doesn't want me here."

"Stefan," she says seriously, "you have no way of knowing what he wants until you talk to him. And_ I_ want you here. It's been long enough, it's time to get past this."

"I said some things the last time I saw him," he says quietly. "Things that weren't true."

"Then you should apologize," she tells him steadily and he smiles, looking pained.

"It's not that easy."

"It is that easy. You just have to want to make it right."

Stefan swallows tightly and I am so thankful for Caroline being here, for telling him all the words that I want to say. For knowing that Damon can hear the conversation that he could never have with his brother because they've never communicated that well or with that much honesty.

Stefan picks at the armrest of the chair, his gaze trained on the floor.

"What happened with him and Katherine?" he asks quietly and I look to Caroline.

"Stefan…" she sighs and shakes her head. "It's really not my place to say."

"No, I know…" he nods. "It's just…she never said anything."

"Well, why would she? Especially if you were sleeping with her."

Stefan's brow furrows as he puts the pieces together. "How long?"

Caroline glances back towards Damon's room, her voice low and hesitant when she admits, "They were together for about a year I think."

"He flipped his switch, didn't he?" he confirms and Caroline nods.

"For a while. It's…and he'll kill me for saying this, but it's been hard for him, Stefan. He misses Elena."

All the air rushes out of Stefan and he looks to the window in the room that overlooks the city.

"I miss her too," he mutters and Caroline's face falls.

"Of course you do, we all do."

I reach over and lay my hand on top of hers and squeeze.

"I just…I can't think about her. It hurts too much."

"Running from it only makes it worse, you know?" Caroline offers gently. "I know it's hard, believe me. After Tyler died, I lost it. But if you face it head on, it gets easier. You have to, or you'll never accept it."

"Is that what Damon did? Accepted it?" he says without inflection, still staring at the city skyline.

"He's trying, in his own way."

"Yeah, sure he is," he scoffs and looks back at Caroline. "I'm sure it's been one plan after another, trying to resurrect her using the sacrifice of a hundred innocent people."

"Stop right there," Caroline snaps. "Elena's spirit moved on. And no matter how much he wants her back, he would never consider trading her peace for his."

Stefan winces.

"You may hate to admit that, but you know it's true," Caroline says forcefully. "And you have _no idea_ what he's been doing over these past years."

"Let's go," Damon says loudly, his voice cutting through the room. All three of us turn to look at him, standing by the door and jacket on, gaze focused on Stefan.

"Damon, listen-" Stefan starts and his brother narrows his eyes at him before he cuts him off.

"You want to watch me resurrect Elena? Then let's go."

"Damon!" Caroline and I screech at the same time and he waves her off.

"It's fine, Blondie. Just a little trip down to the park. No need to call the National Guard."

"Oh," she says quietly, sinking back into her seat. "Damon, are you sure…?"

"Yes I'm fucking sure," he snaps at her then raises his eyebrows mockingly at Stefan. "What do you say, Princess? Your chariot awaits."

"Fine," Stefan grumbles and stands. "It was good to see you, Caroline."

"You too," she smiles sweetly at him, before her tone becomes a warning. "And it won't be the last time. I expect you both back in an hour. Got it?"

"Don't you have tags to cut off?" Damon smirks at her and she rolls her eyes at him.

I get up and stay behind Stefan as he follows Damon out the front door and into the elevator. We're about halfway down the building when Stefan opens his mouth to speak.

"Not a fucking word," Damon growls before Stefan can get a syllable out.

And Stefan doesn't say anything. But he looks. It's only out of the corner of his eyes, but I can tell he's inspecting his brother. Seeing the lines of strain that crease Damon's eyes and mouth, the loss of weight from being consistently low on blood. His hair longer than he usually keeps it and stubble from too much time between shaves. I wonder what he's making of it all, what he'd think if he knew this was an improvement from how bad it was before I sent for Caroline. Then again, I'm not sure if I want Stefan to know the truth. Damon wouldn't want that.

We follow Damon through the underground garage and into his car, the same baby blue Camaro he's been continually nurturing since long before I met him. I sit in the backseat and even with the strain between them, I can't help but to feel relieved that they're together. This is all I ever wanted for them, to hold onto each other. Maybe this time, with both Katherine and me gone and not coming between them, they can start to repair their tattered relationship with Caroline's help. She won't let them tear each other apart.

They're both silent on the short, familiar drive to Central Park, me looking out the windows at all the life around me. And when we get to the park and stop, Damon shuts off the car but doesn't move.

"Aren't we getting out?" Stefan asks him and Damon points to something in the distance.

I follow his gaze and it's a little far for my eyes, but I still see them right away and I smile. Scooting forward, I drape my arms around the headrest so my hands rest on Damon's chest, right over his heart. I press a kiss into his hair that he doesn't feel, but I still do it all the time anyways.

Propping my chin on his shoulder I peek at Stefan and I can tell when he spots them, because his jaw drops.

"Is that Jeremy?"

"Mm-hmm," Damon murmurs, waiting for the inevitable next question.

"Is that his…?"

"Yep."

"Wow," Stefan mumbles and we sit silently, watching Jeremy laugh and play with his daughter.

Her dark brown curls bounce as she runs and skips, and I can't see from here but I know Stefan can discern that the shade of her eyes is the exact same as mine. She's laughing and pointing at an airplane overhead, looking over her shoulder to say something to my brother, when suddenly she trips.

Stefan's body lurches like he wants to go to her and Damon's hand shoots out, landing on his arm and stopping him with a threatening glare. Stefan swallows and relaxes into his seat, Damon pulling his hand back as Jeremy goes to her and scoops her up. He tucks her hair behind her ear and presses a kiss to her forehead, setting her back on her feet as she happily takes off to get back to her game.

"Did he just call her-?"

"Ellie," Damon says with blatant affection. He takes a deep breath, then says lightly, "Stefan, I present to you: Elena Gilbert, resurrected."

"How do you know about her?" Stefan asks quietly and Damon cocks an eyebrow at him.

"The better question is, why don't you?"

Guilt flashes across Stefan's face. "They're living in your old apartment?"

Damon groans. "You didn't break the damn door, did you?"

"I'll take care of it," Stefan murmurs and turns back to watch them.

"Could've just called, you know," Damon grumbles, Stefan glancing down at the floorboard before he looks back through the windshield.

"Does she know you?"

I look at Damon, wondering how much he's going to tell his brother and he narrows his eyes. "Not exactly."

"Not exactly?"

Damon sighs and shifts in his seat. "It's complicated."

"Then why don't you un-complicate it, Damon?"

Damon's head snaps towards Stefan who settles a little further in his seat, head tilted and looking like an angry father waiting for an explanation from his unruly son.

Damon nods towards Ellie, who is running around playfully with a beaming smile lighting up her face. The picture of a perfect, healthy little girl.

"She was born with a hole in her heart."

"She…" Stefan shakes his head. "Wait. What?"

Damon shrugs. "You know that vital human organ that's _not _supposed to resemble swiss cheese? Doctors told Jeremy that apparently it wasn't that big of a crisis and it would heal on its own. And if it didn't, they could poke around and plug it in a game of Operation."

Stefan looks to Ellie, brow furrowing like he'd be able to tell her condition just by looking at her.

"Did it heal?"

"Sure did." Damon smirks. Stefan's eyes bulge.

"You gave vampire blood to Jeremy's daughter? What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Damon rolls his eyes. "Don't be so melodramatic. It was only a little blood. We kept an eye on her."

"You son of a-"

Stefan's voice cuts off when Damon twists and punches his brother's chest, and I wince when I hear the crack wrought by Damon's ring.

"How's that feel? That shard of bone impaling your heart right now?" Damon sneers at him and Stefan chokes on his air, hands clutching at his chest and gritting through the pain. "You think I'm gonna let her feel anything like that, ever? And I wouldn't have done it if Jeremy didn't ask."

Stefan glares at his brother, his breaths slowly becoming steadier as he heals. "There's no way…" He pauses to wince and I hear something snap back into place. "That Jeremy Gilbert, of all people, asked you to give his daughter vampire blood."

"Who else was he going to ask, Stefan? You been checking up on Elena's baby bro? I didn't fucking think so." Damon turns to look out the driver's window, jaw popping in strain. "You've always been slow on the uptake, but there's a lot of shit you don't know."

Stefan groans and rubs his hand over his chest. "Like how you ran off with Katherine?"

Damon scoffs. "Pot, kettle. At least I wasn't dumb enough to love her the second time around."

"No, you just used her. Like you use everyone. As long as you get what you want in the end, right, Damon?"

"How stupid are you?" Damon yells, turning back to Stefan. "We used each other until she tried to trade me to Klaus in exchange for her freedom. So I got the fuck out of there because Klaus didn't just want me dead, he wanted to draw you out to be his little sidekick again. Tell me, Stefan, how long was it before she pulled the same stunt on you?" Stefan's eyes betray him and Damon stares him down. "That's what I thought."

My breath locks in my throat and I can't even process what I just heard to pay attention to anything other than Damon's voice repeating in my head.

That's what Katherine did to him? How did he ever get out of there? How did Stefan?

I blink back tears and scoot closer, tightening my grip on Damon. God, how many times can he be betrayed by the same woman and still trust anyone? How can either of them?

"You fucked up, Stefan," Damon says, his voice low and full of disappointment. "You loved the wrong girl."

"Well you were never supposed to love Elena, were you?"

"You think I did that on purpose?" Damon yells and I cringe.

"I don't know what to believe!"

"Stop it, both of you!" I shout because I can't stay silent anymore. Almost twenty years since my death and it's still the same fight. Hell, it's been the same fight for a hundred and sixty years. Will it never end?

Damon's shaking and I know there's not much more either of them can take before they rip this car apart around them.

I close my eyes as a tear rolls down my cheek. It was never supposed to be like this. They weren't _ever_ supposed to be like this. Not when I know how much they love each other.

Why can't they see that?

"Here's what you believe," Damon growls and I flinch. "When the girl you love dies, you get two choices. You either die with her, or you man up and take care of the shit she would've wanted. Like watching out for her brother and making sure he graduates from school, that he has a place to go. Like healing her niece before they crack open the chest of a six year old girl."

"Is that what this is about?" Stefan asks, his voice dangerously close to something resembling pity. "You don't have to keep doing this; you don't have anything to prove."

"Did you love her?" Damon barks and I open my eyes in time to see Stefan recoil.

"What kind of question is that?"

"Did you love Elena?" Damon asks slowly, dangerously.

Stefan lifts his chin confidently, hardening his expression. "You know I did."

"Wrong answer," Damon scowls at him and Stefan looks flabbergasted.

"What are you talking about?"

But Damon doesn't answer.

Stefan looks completely lost for words as Damon starts the car, his gaze flicking back and forth between Ellie and his brother. Finally he shakes his head, sounding like he's humoring him when he sighs, saying, "Fine. What about you, Damon. Did _you_ love her?"

Damon shifts into reverse, his left hand clenched tight to the steering wheel but he doesn't start backing out. "Not _did_, Stefan. _Do_."

Warmth seeps through my chest even as rage burns through Stefan's eyes, his jaw snapping shut. "You think you're the only one that still cares about her?"

Damon shrugs. "You still care?" he taunts as he backs up, then shifts into first gear.

"I _do_."

Damon looks at Stefan, his voice menacing when he says, "Prove it."

* * *

Time is supposed to heal all wounds, but I don't know how it's going to heal theirs. Not when they deliberately keep ripping them open.

The short ride back to the apartment was suffocating with the tension radiating between them. Neither said a word, because there wasn't anything else to say. Which is okay by me, because I'm mad at both of them and didn't want to listen to either of their voices.

Stefan has got to stop talking to his brother like Damon is a heartless monster who cares for no one but himself, and he needs to stop implying that no one cares about him. Their history is bloody and Damon has given Stefan plenty of ammunition to use against him, but enough is enough.

And Damon needs to stop putting down Stefan every chance he gets. Jealousy issues are no excuse to lord himself over his brother, plucking the strings of Stefan's guilt so he constantly wallows in remorse, fretting over every decision, every mistake he's ever made.

Nobody is perfect. Especially not the Salvatores.

When we got back to the apartment Damon went straight to his room, showering and shaving, cleaning himself up. He downed two blood bags and then left without a word to either Stefan or Caroline. I almost went with him, but I felt a familiar pull that kept me in the living room. I'm not sure which one of them it was from, but I think it was Stefan.

He and Caroline were sitting across from each other, not talking but just sharing the silence. I think they didn't want to speak in front of Damon because as soon as he left, it was like a weight was lifted from both of their shoulders.

They're still just sitting, Caroline flipping through a magazine and Stefan looking out the window, a forgotten drink in his hand.

I wonder if he's contemplating leaving, or if Damon's taunt will be enough to keep him here. Stefan may not have stuck around to take care of his brother like I asked him to, but there's still time to change that. A promise isn't truly broken until there's no longer a chance to make it right, and we're not there yet. I just hope that Stefan heard the true meaning, the plea in Damon's words when he told him to prove his love for me. By staying with him.

Caroline turns another page and shifts in her seat without looking up. "How was the park?"

Stefan looks at her, pain etched across his features. "Enlightening."

Caroline closes the magazine and tosses it on the coffee table, meeting Stefan's gaze. She doesn't say anything, just waiting for him to continue and I do too.

Stefan sighs and shakes his head, his mouth opening and closing a few times like he's trying to decide where to start.

When it's clear he's only going to keep struggling, Caroline says gently, "How did Ellie look?"

Stefan takes a deep breath, letting a reverent smile finally rise. "She's beautiful. She looks just like her."

"I know," Caroline smiles back. "Freaky, isn't it?"

"How does that even happen?"

Caroline shrugs. "The wonder of genetics, I guess. Or maybe just fate."

Stefan tilts his head at her.

"What would this world be without an Elena Gilbert?" Caroline teases and Stefan chuckles. Caroline stays quiet for a moment before she says softly, "She doesn't know us. We see Jeremy from time to time and he keeps us updated, but we're not involved. Jeremy's made it clear he doesn't want any vampires in her life and Damon agrees. And as hard as it is to keep my distance, I don't blame them. So we stay out of it."

Stefan nods. "Good, that's the way it should be." His forehead crumples before he asks, "But Jeremy asked Damon to heal her?"

"He told you that?" Caroline asks, clearly shocked, and Stefan tenses.

"Is that not what happened?"

"No, it is," Caroline assures him and he relaxes a little, but not much. "I just didn't think he'd tell you."

"Why wouldn't he?"

Caroline raises her eyebrow at him with a humoring grin. "No offense, Stefan, but it's not the kind of thing I'd expect you to react particularly well to hearing."

I really wish I could give Caroline a high five right now because she totally called that. And Stefan grins and looks down, because he knows it too.

"Thought so," she smirks and Stefan huffs out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a tired laugh. He groans and leans back in his chair, his hands over the edges of the armrest, his glass dangling from his fingertips. "There's a guest room with a shower down the hall, if you want to get some rest," she offers sweetly. "Damon's probably out for the night."

"Thank you, Caroline," he says sincerely and she shrugs.

"What are friends for?"

"I don't mean for the room," he says earnestly and she blushes a little.

"I know," she tells him quietly. "It goes both ways, Stefan. When I lost Tyler," she starts and settles a little deeper into the pillows, "things spiraled out of control. But he always made sure I didn't do anything I would regret. He took care of me. He still does."

Stefan's eyes widen, pain overtaking the line of his mouth. "Caroline, I know you don't owe me anything, but I need you to tell me," Stefan says and he looks like he doesn't want to hear the answer to the question he's going to ask. I'm not sure I want to hear it, either. "How bad off is he?"

"Up and down," she tells him honestly. "Sometimes he just gives up, other times he's almost fine. He's coming out of a rough patch right now. He'll get there, it's just hard."

"I don't get it," Stefan mutters.

"Stefan, I'm sorry to bring this up, but you did know he was in love with her, right?"

"Not _was_, Caroline," Stefan sighs. "_Is_."

Caroline's brow crinkles but she doesn't press.

"And of course I knew, how could I not? But the thing is…" he says and looks out the window. "When we thought Katherine died in the church in 1864, that next morning he was prepared to die. He didn't want to complete the transition if he couldn't be with her."

It's not the first time I've heard this story but I glance at Caroline, unsure if she knows what transpired to turn the Salvatores immortal. Her eyes widen and I know my answer: that neither of them has ever given the details of their transition, but she doesn't look particularly surprised to hear about Damon's decision.

"He still turned, though," she says and Stefan scoffs.

"It wasn't exactly by choice." Stefan scrubs a hand over his face. "I just…I know how much he loved Katherine, and he wouldn't face life without her. And if he feels this much for Elena…"

"You're wondering why he didn't try to do the same thing when she died?" Caroline asks and Stefan nods.

"You know what he said to me today? That when the girl you love dies that you have two choices: you either die with her or you take care of the things she would have wanted."

"Sounds like Damon," Caroline sighs. Then her face falls and she sits up, her voice barely a whisper when she utters, "Stefan…"

"What? What is it, Caroline?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she asks softly and his brow furrows.

I take in her heartbroken expression and I know I'm about to hear something I won't be able to forget.

And I was right.

"He's waiting, Stefan."

* * *

**A/N: The end. JUST KIDDING! But we are getting close. Thanks as always for all the love and support, hope to see you next chapter!**

**Side note: CONGRATULATIONS TO _NIGHTLITEBRIGHT_! The Muse Baby is almost here and I am so immensely excited for you! You know the best gift to give an expectant mother? The same amazingly gorgeous reviews you guys all leave for me. Check out her story _River Deep, Ocean Wide_, a stunning AU/AH. What talented fingers this woman has, I mean WOW. **

**And speaking of AU/AH, thanks to the glories of twitter I got sucked into a little story called _Oblivion_ by _newsgirl83 _and if you're not reading this, you should be. This author is a MASTER, and I am totally having to eat all my evil words about AU/AH stories thanks to her and _Nightlitebright_ and _chellethebelle_ and _This Is My Escape_ and I am pouting. Loudly. ;) Y'all rock, ladies. **

**Happy reading!**

**-Goldnox**


	10. Truth From Regret

**A/N: Howdy! First off, OMG GUYS WE'VE SAILED PAST THE 200 REVIEW MARK! Seriously? I bow to you all. Just so honored and touched by every supportive word. And because you've all been so sweet, I'm gonna give you fair warning: this chapter is gonna be a little tough to swallow. And I shall say no more.**

**ALWAYS, ALWAYS thanks to the bestest, most hard working beta EVER Trogdor19, who has somehow kept up with me busting out 50k in the last month and not even breaking a sweat over it while beta'ing two other stories and writing her own and traveling and having drunken TVD exercise parties and grating enough cheese to make me faint from dehydration due to excessive drooling. Bats, beans, and insurance cards. ;) And Ian Somerhalder in boots with manly, swirly things, a black Stetson, and your brand new self-designed saddle slung over one beefy arm. And a Clydesdale. Named Moonshadow. OK OK I'M STOPPING. **

* * *

**Chapter 9: Truth from Regret**

"Home sweet home…"

_Home_.

Of all the places Damon and Stefan and I have lived over the past forty-odd years, I think the boarding house will always be home to all three of us. I'm so excited to be back.

"I think you mean dusty as all fuck," Damon mutters to Stefan, flicking on the lights.

There are sheets over the furniture but even so, Damon's right: there is a ton of dust everywhere which he _hates _and won't rest until it's taken care of. There are few things in this world Damon despises more than an unclean house.

The boys get right to work cleaning the place up and I watch with amusement while they bicker and trade jabs back and forth about the right way to clean antique vases and the most effective way to air out the oriental rugs without damaging them. Stefan folding the draping sheets and Damon ripping them out of his hands because he'd rather throw them away. There's an argument about why Stefan never learned how to wind the grandfather clock, Stefan calling Damon a control freak and throwing up his hands, telling Damon if he's going to do everything himself then Stefan may as well just stop.

There's nothing that makes me happier than seeing my boys together. And finally, at peace with one another.

It took a while, but when Stefan stayed with us in New York it was the first big step of many. There have been a lot of fights, more than a few gut stakings, but slowly, they have worked through a lot of their issues and found a way to start over. I wonder if this was how they were as humans. Cracking jokes and volleying taunts, occasionally playing pranks on each other.

Life still isn't perfect, but it's pretty damn close. And it's everything I could ever want for them.

"You heard from Caroline?" Stefan asks as Damon puts away the vacuum.

"She's still running around Greece with _Patty Cake_," Damon tells him, his voice dripping with disdain over the nickname and I roll my eyes with a snicker.

"Patrice," Stefan corrects automatically and Damon scoffs.

"Whatever. The French Fairy can do whatever he wants as long as he keeps his eyes to himself."

Stefan chuckles and I join him, plopping down on the couch in the living room.

Caroline met Patrice about ten years ago during one of our stays in Paris, and she fell head over heels for him immediately. Despite Damon's objection that he thinks he's playing for the other team because he's always staring at him. I think he's just terrified of Damon, and for good reason.

At ninety-eight years old but still looking twenty, he's a perfectly-aged vampire companion for Caroline, but he will never be able to stand his ground in a fight with Damon, which he knows. Because Damon has almost killed him. Twice.

The first time was more of an accident than anything. Damon and I came in late, and I knew something was wrong when Damon tensed as soon as he opened the front door. Caroline shrieked for someone to stop and he blurred out of sight, and the next thing I heard was a shout and a string of French curse words. I ran into the kitchen to find Damon with his hand buried in the guy's chest, moments away from ripping out his heart with a scantily dressed Caroline looking horror struck next to a half-filled blender with ice cream on her nose. Caroline finally diffused the situation, but not before Damon made it perfectly clear that he would only allow Patrice to live if Damon saw him fit to do so.

Damon doesn't take kindly to anyone messing with Caroline, even though he knows she can take care of herself. But I don't think he was ever worried about her physical safety. Because when Caroline showed up in tears a few years later saying they had broken up, only for Patrice to arrive the next day in his attempt to win her back, all hell broke loose.

Damon calmly opened the door and let him in, not telling him that Caroline was out wallow-shopping with Stefan. I could tell he was only pretending to listen as Patrice rattled off how much he loved Caroline, how he hoped Damon would convince her to give him another chance because Damon was the only one she ever seemed to listen to. Damon clapped him on the shoulder and led him towards the kitchen, and as soon as Patrice turned his back, Damon staked him through the shoulder.

The ensuing fight was viciously bloody and I have no doubt that Damon would have killed him if Stefan hadn't shown up and pulled his brother off.

Caroline was furious and refused to speak to Damon for months, but she and Patrice made up and eventually she made peace with Damon too. I don't think she could stand to be mad at him when in her heart, she knew why he did it.

Damon still loves picking on him, threatening him, and Patrice stays as far away from Damon as possible. The whole thing is a little ridiculous, but it's also really cute to watch. And whenever Caroline comes to visit there's usually a pause when Damon acts like he's deciding whether or not to allow Patrice to live based on Caroline's summary of how she's been. Stefan is usually on hand to play peacekeeper since he and Patrice have always gotten along just fine. But then again, Stefan doesn't get secretly jealous when Caroline stays away for years at a time because she's off with her boyfriend.

And I think the fact that she took him to Greece this time just added insult to injury for Damon. That's always kind of been their place.

"You should try giving him a chance, Damon. He's not that bad," Stefan shrugs and I wish I had some popcorn because this is bound to be good.

"Yeah, should've figured you'd have a soft spot for him. You always did like the frilly ones. Is that what drew you to Klaus?"

"Fuck you," Stefan laughs. "And Patrice is not gay."

"He spends more money on his clothes than Vampire Barbie, and believe me, I know what that girl spends on her wardrobe."

"This from the guy who wears designer shirts to wash his car."

"That's different. It's one thing to enjoy the finer things in life. It's another to prance around yapping about the latest spring collection shown in Milan and giggling over finding the perfect shade of boots to match his _fabulous_ mood," Damon says, dramatically throwing up his hands and kicking up a foot behind him at the word fabulous.

Stefan and I burst out laughing, and I love that it doesn't even surprise me anymore to hear the sound from him.

"Should've killed that little prima donna when I had the chance," Damon mutters and goes to get the broom.

"Aww, don't be jealous, Cinderelly. Caroline will be back with your glass slipper in no time."

Damon must say something from the next room that I can't hear because Stefan almost doubles over in laughter, Damon strutting back in with the broom and dustpan and scowling at his brother like he wants to kill him.

"Have fun, Drizella," Damon smirks and tosses the broom at Stefan, not even pausing before he heads upstairs and throws the dustpan over his shoulder behind him.

"You do realize that knowing the names of the ugly stepsisters makes it even worse, right?" Stefan calls up with a grin. Another pause and a reply that I don't hear, followed by Stefan's head falling back as he laughs heartily.

Home sweet home, that's for sure.

* * *

"Good to be home?" I smile when Damon walks out of his bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips after taking a long, luxurious shower.

I relax on his bed while he changes into his customary jeans and a gray Henley, still as mouthwatering gorgeous as the day I met him. His hair is almost dry by the time he stretches out on his bed, the super short style he's been favoring highlighting the sharpness of his jaw and rise of his cheekbones.

It still blows me away. He could have anyone he wanted. Women throw themselves at him constantly, and he never pursues it. He'll dance, he'll feed, he'll smile and maybe even flirt with them a little, but that's it.

He reaches over and opens his bedside drawer, pulling something out before he closes it. I snuggle into the pillow beside him when he rests a hand behind his head, his other idly playing with my necklace. There's a soft smile tugging at his lips and I kiss my fingertips, lightly pressing them into his cheek.

We've come a long way since my funeral.

And Jeremy was right. Even with everything that's happened, the rough years and his fights with Caroline and Stefan, I am so, so proud of him. He's one hell of a vampire, but he's an even better man.

I've watched him have patience with his brother, helping Stefan finally master control so he's strong and confident, more cheery with the human blood in his system. Damon even found a way to give Stefan peace of mind about what he is. Stefan mostly drinks from blood bags now, but when he does Snatch, Eat, Erase with Damon he takes the compulsion one step further. He always leaves them in a far better place than he found them and I know how good it makes him feel.

Stefan has always wanted to help people. He wanted to be a doctor, he told me once, and I think this is the closest he's ever gotten. I'm incredibly proud of him too.

"Whatcha wanna do today?" I sing song happily, rolling onto my stomach and swinging my feet lazily. "Read? Relax? Go to the Grill and harass the bartender?" I grin.

I'm so curious and impatient to see the town and how it may have changed over the years. And we've been back for a few weeks, but we haven't ventured out. I don't see why; it's not like there should be anyone that would still recognize them and even if they did, they would all be old men and women now. It's safe for them to be here again.

But Damon just settles further into the comforter, still toying with my necklace.

"Okay, relax it is," I sigh and lay my head down, closing my eyes.

I don't sleep, but if I stay quiet and still long enough I can almost remember what it's like.

I miss dreaming.

My eyes open when Damon sits up, setting my necklace down on the table and heading towards his bedroom door.

"Stefan break something again?" I say with a giggle, rolling off the bed to follow him downstairs.

Damon comes to a halt on the staircase and I stop behind him, seeing the muscles tense in his neck.

I don't get it. Caroline and Patrice are supposed to be in Greece for another month, at least.

I move down onto the next step and lay my hand on his arm, his face flashing through a range of emotions almost too fast for me to interpret. He's every shade of surprised, worried, nervous, and very, very upset. But before I can say his name to ask what's wrong, he takes a deep breath and continues down the stairs.

We round the corner at the landing, taking a right towards the front door and his hand lingers on the newel post like he doesn't want to let go. I glance down the hallway and I can see Stefan's back. He's standing with the front door open and just waiting, patiently. He peeks over his shoulder at Damon, wearing the same troubled expression as his brother.

I have no earthly idea who is at the door, and whatever this is, I don't want either of them to have any part of it.

Damon gives him a slight nod and Stefan sighs, turning back to the entryway until we come to a stop beside him. My eyes widen and mouth gapes.

What is she doing here?

I know she's barely fifty, but she looks well over a decade younger. Slim and petite, dark hair slightly wavy and shoulder length, parted to the side. Her clothes are classy but still casual, a blush-colored cardigan over a knee length, gracefully flowing skirt that is swinging in the breeze. A demure purse slung over her shoulder, hands clasped anxiously in front of her.

She's everything I would have wanted to look like if I ever reached her age.

"I'm Elena," she says when she sees Damon, and he swallows.

"I'm Damon. Stefan's brother," he tells her and I feel like I could faint. If she says 'I didn't know Stefan had a brother' I have no doubt that I'll collapse.

But instead Ellie says gently, "It's very nice to meet you both, I just wish it were under better circumstances."

I grab onto Damon, my stomach dropping to my knees. Stefan glances at his brother and Damon's lips tighten.

"Please come in," Damon tells her and she steps over the threshold hesitantly, Stefan closing the door behind her.

She follows us into the living room, glancing around curiously and it feels like it was only a moment ago that I did the same for the first time. I remember vividly how overwhelmed I was, feeling swarmed by history and opulence that made me feel so very, very young.

Ellie takes a seat on one of the couches and the boys take the sofa opposite from her, me standing behind them. Stefan looks far past uncomfortable and Damon is trying to appear relaxed, I'm sure in an attempt to make her more at ease, but there's nothing calm about the set of his shoulders. I lay my hands on them and squeeze, because I just can't seem to help it.

"Would you like a drink?" Stefan offers and she shakes her head.

"No, thank you. I can't stay long."

Both of them nod and I know what she's going to say next, but I don't know how I'm ever going to hear it.

"I'm Elena Gilbert, Jeremy Gilbert's daughter," she tells them and Damon offers her a tight smile. She looks pointedly at Damon, sympathy taking her eyes and I cover my mouth with my hand. "He asked for you," she says quietly and I burst into tears.

I wipe at my face but they don't stop. I knew this was going to happen. We all did. But it doesn't matter how old he gets. He will always be my baby brother.

"It's time," Damon says after a deep breath and she nods.

"Do you mind me asking how you know him?"

Stefan looks to Damon and Damon clears his throat. "We're old friends," he tells her and Ellie looks a little confused, but doesn't press.

There's no sign that she's aware of whom she's really talking to. That Damon healed her as a child. That he's been watching over her from a safe distance since she was born. That he would do anything to keep her safe and make sure she has the life she wanted, that Jeremy wanted for her.

The life that she has lived.

She leans forward to hand Damon a piece of paper. "This is his address. I…I wouldn't wait," she says and stands.

I glance down at the address, and it's here in Mystic Falls. Suddenly it all makes sense. Why Damon was insistent on moving back. Why he's been here every day, not leaving the house. He _knew_.

"If you don't mind, I'll come with you now," he tells her and rises, Stefan along with him.

"That would probably be best," she agrees.

"Do you…" Stefan starts and clears his throat, and Damon claps him on the shoulder.

"It's okay. I got this, brother," he says and Stefan nods. "I'll tell him."

Stefan offers a kind smile to Ellie before Damon and I follow her out the front door.

It's a short ride to the house, Damon and Ellie making polite chit chat to help with the awkwardness, but there's nothing natural about any of it.

I can't seem to stop crying.

When we get there Ellie heads in first and I panic for a moment, not knowing whether or not Damon will be able to get through the door. But then the corner of his mouth turns up and he crosses it easily without even hesitating. I loop my arm with his as she leads us to a bedroom on the first floor, knocking quietly before she opens the door and peers inside.

"Dad? Damon Salvatore is here to see you…"

"I know," he says and his voice is scratchy, tired. Aged. "Thank you, Ellie. Send him in."

Ellie opens the door wider and stands aside, Jeremy's silver-haired wife slowly coming out and gently laying a fragile hand on Damon's arm as she passes. He offers her a polite smile, steadying her until she takes her daughter's hand. Damon steps into the room and I slide past Ellie before she closes the door softly behind us.

"Hey," he smiles when he sees us and I rush to his side, sitting beside him on the bed and grasping his hand. His thumb strokes up and down where the back of my hand is, and even though I can't feel it, it means everything to me.

"Jeremy," I breathe and wipe at my eyes, taking in his lank gray hair and pale, thin frame. It's only been a few years since the last time I saw him, and he was older but still vibrant, full of life. Not like this. Not like this…

"Hey ya, kid," Damon says lightly and takes a seat in the chair beside me. "Thanks for the invite."

"You do realize I'm an old man now, right?" Jeremy says slowly, like each word is an effort.

Damon shrugs. "Still look like a punk to me," Damon tells him and a laugh trickles through my tears, Jeremy sparing a light chuckle.

"I'm…I'm glad you came," he tells Damon and my tears fall with new fervor.

"Stefan wanted to be here, but…" Damon starts and stops when Jeremy lifts his other hand a few inches, two fingers waving him off.

"No offense to Stefan," Jeremy says and God, he sounds so tired. "But he's not my brother."

I lean down, my forehead resting on Jeremy's hand as I cry, my whole body racked with sobs.

Damon's quiet for a long time before he says softly, "Thought I wasn't either."

Jeremy's scoff is so light I barely hear it. "You're a lot of things, Damon, but you're not stupid."

Damon snorts a laugh, and I hear him shift in his seat. I press a kiss onto Jeremy's hand and sit up so I can see his face, doing my best to smile despite the pain of losing him right before my eyes. I spare a glance at Damon and he's leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands folded like he's praying.

"Is there anything you need?" he asks solemnly and my broken heart dissolves into a million tiny flutters of ash.

I can't take this.

"As a matter of fact, there is," Jeremy tells him. "My family. Ellie…"

"I'll take care of them."

"I know, but I don't want you to." I look at Damon and see the pain streak through his eyes, and I know Jeremy sees it too. "You've done so much for my family, for my little girl, more than I can ever thank you for. But enough…is enough." Jeremy pauses to catch his breath. "They will be fine. I taught them to be strong, just like you taught me."

Damon hangs his head and I hear him release a strangled breath.

"You let them take care of the funeral," Jeremy instructs him, leaving no room for argument.

"Okay," Damon whispers and I reach out to lay a hand on his arm, linking all three of us together.

"And now I need you to listen to me," Jeremy says and Damon looks up, his eyes watery. "And you're not going to like what I have to say."

"Whatever it is…" Damon tells him, shaking his head. "Just take it from me, deathbed confessions never turn out well."

"I know," Jeremy says and his words are so slow… "But I have to tell you this. Because I lied to you."

"Jeremy, no…" I breathe and even exhausted, he smiles at me.

"It's okay," he says to me and Damon's forehead crinkles. "I wasn't talking to you," Jeremy tells him and I gasp.

I glance at Damon and he's putting the pieces together faster than I want him to.

"No," he says and shakes his head. "Uh-uh. Nope."

"Yes," Jeremy tells him.

"Jeremy…you're _sick_," Damon says as politely as he's able. "You're on medication and…whatever you're seeing, isn't there."

"She is here, because you're here," Jeremy says and Damon's eyes flare. "She has always been with you, Damon."

"Are you-" he starts and stops, scrubbing a hand over his face before he leans closer to my brother, whispering harshly. "Are you honestly telling me that you've been seeing the ghost of your dead sister this whole time and you lied to me about it?"

"Yes…"

Damon launches to his feet, pacing the room and fists clenching.

"If you want to kill me, I understand. But it's kind of a moot point," Jeremy says softly and I gape at him.

"Why are you doing this?" Damon mutters, looking hurt more than anything else.

"Take it back," I plead with Jeremy and he shakes his head.

"No, he needs to know."

Damon stops dead still, standing straighter. "Jeremy, Elena is not here."

Jeremy tilts his head to where I'm sitting. "Of course she is. She's sitting on the bed, holding my hand."

"Bullshit," Damon spits at him and Jeremy rolls his eyes.

"Tell me something," Jeremy asks me. "Something only you would know."

"No," I say adamantly. "No, I won't."

"She's being stubborn," he says to a staring Damon before looking back at me. "You've been with him almost seventy years, Elena. He deserves to know how much you love him," my brother tells me and I suck in a breath.

"Jeremy, I swear to God," Damon growls and Jeremy holds up a hand to silence him.

"Just wait…" he tells him. "Tell me, Elena, and I'll tell him. Go ahead."

I sniffle back my tears and look to Damon, his whole body shaking and completely unsure what to do with all this means. Slowly I stand and move so I'm in front of him, cupping his cheek in my palm.

I take a deep breath.

"When Ellie came today, he was in his room, holding my necklace."

Jeremy repeats my words and Damon's eyes bulge, then harden.

"No," he grits out, but his voice wavers.

"At my funeral, after everyone left, you swore you would never forgive me."

"He said that?" Jeremy asks and I nod.

"What?" Damon snaps.

"You said you'd never forgive her, at the funeral."

Damon's breath rushes out of him.

"And after Jeremy left for Denver, when you fought with Stefan…" I wipe my eyes with my free hand and take another deep breath. "I held you in your closet; I was with you the whole time."

"When I left Mystic Falls," Jeremy starts then pauses, gaining his breath, "you had a fight with Stefan. She says she held you when you were in the closet."

All the color drains from Damon's face.

"See?" Jeremy says with a smile in his voice. "She has never left your side."

"I love you, Damon," I whisper.

"She says she loves you," Jeremy tells him compassionately, then his voice is a little lower when he mutters, "though why that's news to anyone..."

"It's news to me," Damon whispers and I smile. "Where is she?"

"She's standing right in front of you," Jeremy says. "And don't panic, but her hand is on your cheek."

Damon's eyes roam over my face like he can see me, and I know he can't. But he knows I'm here.

"Thank you, Jeremy," I say with all the gratitude in my heart, turning to look at him.

"You're welcome," he breathes. "Love you, sis."

I go take my place beside my brother, laying my hand over his. "I love you too."

He hums happily, then his brow furrows as his eyes close, his chest barely rising and falling.

"Jeremy?" Damon says quietly, coming to sit back in the chair just as Jeremy's face relaxes.

"Damon…" I whimper, stroking my thumb over my brother's hand. "Damon, is he…?"

Damon holds his breath, clenching his jaw shut. He reaches out slowly and then pulls his hand back, pressing his fist to his mouth.

"Jeremy," he says louder, but my brother doesn't move.

Damon closes his eyes for a long moment before he reaches out once more, his hand trembling as he feels for Jeremy's pulse.

His head hangs and I try to control my gasping breaths, the raw sound coming from between my lips, but I can't.

I barely hear Damon when he says for both of us, "Goodbye, brother."

* * *

**A/N: *flicks and lights zippo, holds up lighter for Little Gilbert* Okay, are we crying? Because I am. All the tears for Jeremy. But he had a good long life, a happy marriage and a sweet daughter he cherished and it was all good things. It's a happy death, right? Yeah, probably not. Sorry guys, I know this was a rough one. **

**So, where we're at: TWO MORE TO GO. And I know you're thinking...WHAT? But, Goldnox! So much has to happen?! Yes it does, darlings, yes it does. Which means that the next two chapters are gonna be a lot to take in. And I am extremely excited to share them with you. It's gonna be a ride. And that is my disgustingly shameless segue of click those buttons, they don't bite! Can't wait to hear your thoughts on this chapter, you have all been so wonderfully supportive and I cannot thank you enough. See you next chapter!**

**-Goldnox**


	11. Come One, Come All

**A/N: I. AM. STUNNED. Such an incredible outpouring of love and support in the endless reviews for the last chapter. I just don't know how to thank you all. Really. **

**Many thanks to Trogdor19 for beta'ing this and listening to me whine about my broken heater, showering me with hippie tea and MAGICALLY APPEARING CHEESE! Happy near-anniversary, little dove. Everyone needs to go read _In Time We Trust_, right MEOW. If you do that AND leave a review for her, maintenance will magically appear on my doorstep and fix my shit so it's not 60 degrees in my apartment. You don't want me to freeze, do you? *whimpers***

**Okay. Are we ready? Then let it begin...**

* * *

**Chapter 10: Come One, Come All**

He's just…_gone_.

He's right in front of me, but he's not here. Not anymore.

I don't…

I can't breathe.

_Jeremy._

There's a sound to my left but I don't raise my head to look. Nothing else matters except the body I'm draped over that isn't moving.

Somewhere, a door opens.

But my brother is dead and I don't care.

The words are thick and fuzzy, far away when I hear Damon's last name being said questioningly. Silence only follows it and when I look up Ellie is in front of me, checking for Jeremy's pulse and I want to push her hands away. I know she's his daughter but he's _my_ brother and I don't want anyone touching him.

I feel a tug and I know what's happening and I scream, scrambling for purchase but I can't hold on and I'm ripped away, suddenly next to Damon outside the house.

He takes a step toward the street and I'm pulled along, as though there's an invisible rope dragging me behind him.

I glance back towards the house as my feet shuffle me forward, away from the place where my brother's body lies.

I didn't get to say goodbye.

* * *

I don't know where we're going.

I don't watch the streets or the cars or even look at the town. I don't know why I ever cared.

I just follow Damon, letting him blindly lead me because I can't not be with him.

It's only the second time I've wished to disappear, for him to let me go. I'd rather not feel than feel _this._

He stops and so do I, tightening my arms that are hugged around my body. I sniffle. But I don't hear it. Damon's cough covers it.

Something about that is wrong. Why is he coughing?

I raise my head and find him next to a tree, his hand pressed against it as he bends over, his body lurching as he heaves and sputters.

"Damon?"

I walk around to his side and he's sick, choking on his gags. I lay my hand on his back and rub a soothing circle, and he catches his breath, spitting with revulsion before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fucking disgusting," he mutters and I pull my hand back.

God, what I wouldn't give for him, anyone, to just hug me right now. Is that too much to ask? My dad's arm never left my shoulder at my grandmother's funeral when I was eight, and it was an anchor that I clung to, even though I realize now how much he probably needed someone to hold him.

And I _need_ that sanctuary but I can't touch Damon and he can't hold me. He calls the Other Side purgatory, but it's not. It's the tenth level of Dante's hell.

He keeps walking and I realize that we're by the cemetery. I hope we're just passing it by on his way to a bar.

But he turns in at the gate that opens with a groaning, bitter squeak, as though no one has been to visit the dead in too long. And why would they? There's nothing comforting here. Just rotting bodies in holes. Names and dates that don't talk back. I don't know what I ever found peaceful about coming here. No wonder Damon always hated it.

I fleetingly wonder if they will bury Jeremy beside me and I wish I could throw up.

Damon stops in front of my grave just like I somehow knew he would, but this time he doesn't stand glaring at it like he did at my funeral. I don't even think he's been back since that day.

He sits down in front of my headstone, one foot planted with his knee up, his hand brushing leaves and dirt off the rock that blares the date of my death. I sink to my knees behind him, laying my head on his back and praying that I could feel his pulse, smell his cologne, feel the fabric of his shirt, anything.

His body shifts and pulls as he hangs his head, clearing his throat followed by a small sniffle.

It kills me when he cries.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he mumbles. "You were supposed to be okay. I _needed_ you to be okay."

I wrap my arms around him as he grabs a stone and hurls it with all the strength in his body, the crash from it striking a tree like a crack of thunder.

"God, Elena," he grits out around a strangled breath, thick with tears he's swallowing. "Why didn't you let me save you?"

* * *

A few hours later I follow Damon in through the front door to find Stefan pacing in the parlor. Damon stops as soon as he sees his brother, Stefan not even trying to hide his worry.

"What?" Damon snaps at him and Stefan swallows.

"Is he…?"

I squeeze my eyes shut, doing my best to steady myself with a deep breath before I re-open them and uselessly wipe my tears away.

"Yep," Damon tells him and continues into the living room.

Stefan's brow furrows as he watches Damon stroll over to the drink cart. "Are you…?"

Damon looks at Stefan over his shoulder, eyebrow cocked and decanter in his hand, paused while he waits for Stefan to finish.

"You just…"

Damon rolls his eyes when Stefan trails off again, turning back to his glass and filling it with more bourbon than he usually does. "You getting billed by the word over there?"

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Damon scoffs cruelly. "Interesting choice of phrase," he tells him, putting the stopper back in the decanter with a light clink of crystal. "And in case you've forgotten, I wasn't the one that saw them." He takes a drink and tilts his head. "Well, except for that one time when Judgy decided to play Charles Dickens and cast me as Scrooge."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Stefan asks and Damon turns to face him.

"You don't remember when the Bennett witch opened up the door to the Other Side?" Damon asks and takes a deep drink. "Oh, that's right. You were all 'rawr' at the time, locked up on the Mystic Green Mile. Didn't Lexi come back to do a Forty-Eight Hour Cleanse on you?" Damon says and takes another long pull from his glass, draining it.

Stefan crosses his arms and Damon looks at him for a long moment before he turns back to the drink cart, refilling the tumbler.

"We've got a girlfriend stuck in purgatory," Damon says baldly and I wince.

All the color drains from Stefan's face. "But Jeremy said-"

"He lied," Damon says and throws back his drink, slamming his glass back down. "Apparently my fine print stipulates a ghosty babysitter."

"She's…?"

Damon shrugs. "Best way to watch the show without getting busted for doing it? Die first."

"Damon!" I admonish.

Stefan shakes his head. "Damon, that can't be right. How do you know he was-"

"Because I fucking know," he growls and I flinch, but Stefan doesn't. Instead, he sinks down on the couch and scrubs a hand over his face.

Damon pours a second glass of bourbon and goes to sit in the wingback beside the couch.

"How long do you think she's…?" Stefan asks as Damon passes him the drink.

"The whole…fucking…time," Damon says slowly.

They both take a long pull and I move in front of Damon, kneeling down so I can see his eyes because he's staring into his bourbon.

"Hell, for all I know she could be here right now," Damon mumbles and I lay my hand on his knee.

"I am here," I promise.

They are both quiet for a few minutes, just listening to the fire crackle and pop in the grate.

I wish Damon would go upstairs and get some rest. He's so upset about everything, and I don't want to be down here anymore either. My heart is broken over Jeremy and the only thing I want is to snuggle with Damon in our bed. To just be silent and still for hours, listen to him breathe, pretending that I can still dream like he can.

But any hope for that is gone when Stefan speaks.

"She loves you."

There's no question in his voice, no hint of jealousy or anything other than just calmly stating a fact that I've never been sure he was aware of.

Damon scoffs again and pain lashes through me.

"Sure she did," he mutters and takes a drink, Stefan's eyes flaring.

"Don't do that," he snaps at his brother and Damon looks up, the surprise clear in his eyes.

They narrow as he warns, "You better watch your tone there, Pup. You don't want to pull my tail today."

"You're always telling me to man up and face the shit I don't want to. Well, it's your turn now," Stefan tells him and Damon cocks an incredulous eyebrow while I glance back and forth, waiting for them to start swinging at each other. "What is your problem with facing the fact that she obviously cared about you when you're still in love with her? I don't get it, Damon. Because if it was me…" Stefan shakes his head. "I wouldn't disrespect the sacrifice she's made."

Damon hurls his glass at Stefan, his brother throwing his hand up to block it and sending it crashing to the floor, crystal shattering everywhere. "I'm _not_ disrespecting her."

Stefan leans forward, pointing a finger perilously close to Damon's face. "She's been watching over you for how long and you can't even admit that she loves you because...what? She didn't do everything exactly like you wanted?" Damon narrows his eyes. "Stop acting like a spoiled brat."

"Who the fuck _are_ you?" Damon says, looking completely confused.

"Can you please stop fighting with each other?" I plead helplessly.

"I'm your brother, and I'm telling you to stop being a dick."

Damon glares at Stefan who is scowling right back, until Damon jerks towards his brother in a threat and Stefan balks.

"That's enough, time out!" I yell because I can't take their five-year old bullshit anymore.

I just lost my brother and Damon is spiraling and Stefan is provoking him and Caroline isn't here to keep them from killing each other and no one can hear a damn word I say about any of it.

God, I can only take so much in one day.

Stefan finally sighs and leans back in his seat, scrubbing his hand over his face.

"That's what I thought," Damon mutters.

"What is the real problem, Damon? Is it because Elena and I were together?" Damon rumbles a growl and black veins flutter around his eyes, disappearing again before they fully form. Stefan's voice becomes very careful when he says, "Because I'll always love her, but it's obvious who she chose in the end. And I made peace with that a long time ago."

"Well, goody for you. Too bad you couldn't have made that announcement when it actually mattered."

"Why doesn't it matter now?" Stefan asks quietly, earnestly.

"Um, I'm sorry, but do you fucking see her?" Damon nearly yells, and I hang my head. "No. Because she's dead."

"And why is she dead, Damon?"

I look up at Stefan, terrified of what he's going to say next because even though his voice is soothingly gentle, this is dangerous territory.

"You're seriously going to pull the blame shit on me again?" Damon asks harshly, his face stunned with betrayal.

"No," Stefan says, shaking his head. "I'm saying she died to save you. To save all of us. And she's watching over you because she still cares. Damon…" Stefan starts and pauses, "those were _Elena's _choices. None of this is your fault."

I scamper out of the way as Damon storms to his feet, and I expect him to go after Stefan but he marches to the wet bar and pours a full glass, his hands shaking as he tosses it back and drinks another just as fast. He fills a third and takes a heavy step towards the fireplace as he sips, his whole body quivering with an overabundance of too-powerful emotions while he paces back and forth.

He stops in front of the fireplace and I watch the silhouette of his shoulders, hoping to see them rise and fall, praying that he's breathing.

But he's not.

"Damon…" I whisper, but I don't finish when he suddenly throws his glass into the fire, the flames jumping like they want to burst free from the hearth.

His head hangs as he leans forward, his hands braced on the mantle.

"It is," he mumbles. "This is my fault."

Stefan doesn't say anything, just watching silently as Damon pushes off and makes his way back to the chair, collapsing into it and looking completely exhausted, unbearably defeated.

I crawl over to him and lay my head on Damon's knee, my tears crashing into the floor but not a single one showing.

* * *

None of us move for hours, the only sound in the house is the crackling fire Damon is staring at and Stefan's soft steps as he occasionally gets up to refill his glass. He stopped offering drinks to Damon when he declined for the third time, not doing anything but just leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. He's barely breathing.

A single tear slides down his cheek and I try to wipe it away, but my hands don't make any difference.

"I can't abandon her to this, Stefan," Damon says quietly, the first words he's spoken since he threw his glass into the fire.

"I know," his brother replies just as softly. "So what are we going to do?"

Damon looks at his brother, and when Stefan releases a deep breath it strangles my chest in pure panic.

"You sure?" Stefan asks and when Damon nods, I launch to my feet.

"_No_," I growl at them, but it's no use.

"What about the rest of them?"

"Jeremy's dead," Damon says and clears his throat. "Ellie's taken care of and Caroline's strong, she'll be fine."

Stefan leans forward, his posture matching Damon's. "If it's what you want."

"What the hell is wrong with both of you? Stefan, you can't let him do this!" I screech.

"It is," Damon nods again, then pain etches across his face. "Stefan…"

But his brother smiles warmly. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry," Damon tells him sincerely and my heart squeezes even as fear blasts through me.

"Brother, don't you worry," Stefan says lightly, "our bond is unbreakable."

Damon huffs a laugh and covers his mouth with his hand, giving Stefan a single nod as his brother gets up to refill his glass once more, not noticing as Damon brushes away the tear from his face. Stefan comes back with a second glass, this time Damon accepting it and drinking it all in one gulp.

"How do you want to do this?" Stefan asks and I want to scream, to slap him, to do anything but allow this to happen.

Damon fingers his daylight ring and glances at the curtains and I can't think to breathe, let alone move.

_No._ Anything but that.

God, the _pain_…

"Not sure if I'm that much of a masochist."

"So, tried and true?" Stefan says casually and I gape at him.

Who the hell is this person that is calmly discussing this like it's all some big fucking joke?

"Like riding a bike," Damon shrugs and rises, going over to the drink cart. "Just with better aim."

Stefan gets up to join him and Damon refills his brother's glass, then his own before he sets down the decanter.

"To broken promises?" Damon smirks and touches his glass to Stefan's, taking a sip of the liquid and holding it in his mouth for a moment before he swallows. "God, I'm gonna miss that," he mutters and throws back the rest of the glass the same time as Stefan.

I pace back and forth, hugging my arms to my chest as tears start streaking down my face.

There's nothing I can do to stop this insanity.

Damon takes his phone out of his pocket, his fingers tapping out a quick text and I move to peek over his shoulder.

_**The AmEx is all yours, Blondie. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. **_

"How could you do this to her?" I yell as he shuts off his phone and sets it down, Stefan's phone beginning to ring a moment later.

"Barbie quick on the draw?" Damon asks and Stefan laughs quietly, sending her to voicemail before he turns his off too. "She's going to rip you apart for that one," Damon chuckles at seeing Stefan ignore her, but Stefan just shrugs.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Damon walks calmly over to the coffee table and eyes it, throwing a quick glance at Stefan before his foot slams down on the corner, shattering the wood with an explosive snap that feels like the end of everything in my world.

He bends and sorts through the pieces, picking up a sharp, stake sized chunk before he tosses it in the air and catches it, as if it were just an ordinary baseball and not the merchant of death that we all know it to be.

"Heads up, brother," he says and tosses it to Stefan, who catches it easily.

"Stefan, if you do this…" I warn, my voice quivering over my threat.

Stefan looks at the stake, running his fingertips over the jagged end.

"Pick up the pace, Steffie. I don't have all day," Damon drawls and we both look at him, Stefan's face unreadable while mine is horrified.

Stefan doesn't respond other than to clear his throat, walking over to where Damon's standing with precise and measured movements, his brother standing straighter the closer he gets.

"Please don't do this," I whisper as Stefan stops in front of Damon.

Damon rolls his shoulders back, looking more brave than I've ever seen him and I hate it, I hate it all and there's nothing I can do but cry.

But Stefan suddenly leans over and grabs a second chunk of wood before he straightens.

"I appreciate the attention to detail," Damon smirks. "But I'm really not that picky. Now _do it_."

Stefan takes the second stake and holding it parallel to the floor, presses it against his brother's chest.

"Selfish to the end," Stefan tells him and Damon narrows his eyes.

"What?!" I screech.

_No, no, no…_

"This one way ticket is _not_ buy one get one free," Damon snaps.

"Maybe you should have read _my_ fine print," Stefan grins and Damon shoves him back.

Stefan growls back into Damon's face, staring him down and straightening so he's a fraction of an inch taller, a stake in each hand.

"We started this together, we finish this together. That's it."

"Or what? You'll kill me?" Damon taunts.

"You should be glad, you've been wanting to kill me for almost two centuries. This should make your whole week."

"Stop fucking around, Stefan."

Stefan pushes the stake against Damon's chest once more, and this time, Damon takes it.

"You are not killing your brother!" I shout, but I'm not sure to which one.

"No more jokes, Damon," Stefan says severely. "This is what _I want_."

They don't speak for a minute, just staring at each other before Damon shakes his head, gritting out a resigned, "Fine. Should've known your martyr side would come a runnin' soon as it smelled wood."

Stefan smiles and I want to be sick.

Damon poises the stake over Stefan's heart and Stefan does the same, a mirror image of my absolute worst nightmare in screaming, vivid color.

"Any last words?" Damon smirks and I cover my mouth with my hands, fresh tears blurring my vision.

"You?" Stefan asks and Damon shrugs.

"It's not the first time I've died."

"And on that note," Stefan mutters. "On three?"

Damon nods.

"You can't do this…" I whisper.

Damon's voice is clear and solid when he says, "Three."

Everything happens in slow motion.

My mouth curves around a scream, my hand reaching out towards them as Damon's lips slide into a smile.

Stefan's hand rears back just as Damon's grip opens, the stake he was holding slipping away from his brother's chest and starting its protracted descent towards the floor.

Stefan doesn't hesitate, plunging the wood through Damon's chest and perfectly into his heart.

Damon's gasp is loudest sound I've ever heard, barely audible over the raw bellow wrenched out of me.

Gray death is spreading over Damon's skin as he collapses against his brother, tears running down Stefan's cheeks as he awkwardly lowers them to their knees.

He grabs the stake that Damon dropped and positions it over his own chest, Damon's last words a sputtered plea of his brother's name before his eyes close, sealing away brilliant blue forever. My universe shreds apart when the rest of his body sags, his head drooping onto Stefan.

"I'll see you soon, brother," Stefan whispers and with a violent hug he pulls Damon's body against him, his brother's weight forcing the weapon to pierce his own heart.

I hit my knees alongside them, flickering through my shrieking as Stefan slumps forward. Ashen twists cover his skin as he clings to Damon, his head finding rest on his brother's shoulder.

His eyes close, and I disappear.

* * *

**A/N:**

**(moment of silence)**

**x**

**x**

**x**

**Okay, so many of you guessed it, and there it is. I have now probably broken every law of fan fiction there is. **

**I. KILLED. EVERYONE. **

**Except for Caroline. Wait, Bonnie...**

**_Amendment:_ Bonnie was eaten by a group of rabid squirrels and _nobody cared_. There, that's fixed. Oh, and Matt went off to play QB for The Patriots and was AWESOME and totally made me win all my fantasy football games. Ta da! **

**Seriously though, once again I cannot thank you all enough for the support you have given this story, dark and angsty as it is. And we have ONE FINAL CHAPTER TO GO! Let's see if I can keep you on your toes one more time...**

**Thank you for reading, from my whole heart.**

**-Goldnox**


	12. A Fight for Forgiveness

**A/N: OKAY! WE ABOUT READY TO DO THIS? First, I know I say this all the time and yeah, I'm gonna say it again. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH! We've been through a lot on this fic and I hope the ending proves to be super duper satisfying after all that came before. **

**Thanks, all the thanks to Trogdor19 who is an amazing beta and best friend, and none of this would be here without her. There are no words, little dove. **

**And, without further ado...**

* * *

**Chapter 11: A Fight for Forgiveness**

My eyes are closed and I breathe deep, listening to the sound of a breeze rustling through familiar trees. I already know where I am and I smile.

I open my eyes to a sight that is bittersweet, but I can't seem to regret the events that brought us here. Because I already know. They can see me.

Stefan and Damon are walking up my front path, side by side, and with the same gait that speaks their shared last name. And as much as I want to run to them, I stay still, standing on the front porch of the house that is no longer mine, but will always be my first home.

And somehow I know: even though it looks the same, this isn't the same house that Damon packed and sold. We're not sharing the space with the living as they move around us, unseeing. This is something else, some place new.

This is the portal to peace.

They slow as they approach the steps up to where I'm waiting. Both of them have met me here so many times before; kissed me here, said goodbye to me here, carried me up the path and over the steps, across the threshold and up to my room. I'm overwhelmed with a feeling of relief, because it is so _right_ that this is where we are. It's exactly what I would have chosen for us.

Stefan's pace picks up as he mounts the steps with something halfway between a walk and a jog, smiling at me while Damon lags behind, his face unreadable. Damon takes the final step onto the porch just as Stefan strides right up to me, hugging me warmly.

I can feel him.

"Stefan…" I say with affection, my head finding that familiar spot on his chest over his heart. But it is silent now.

"I've missed you, Elena," he says and I smile, squeezing him once before I let go and step back. I look to Damon and he is stoic, just watching me.

Panic races through me but I don't let it show. Instead, I look back to Stefan.

"Are you ready?" I ask him calmly and he tilts his head at me, glancing at Damon.

"What else is there?"

"Peace," I say and smile. "It's time for you to be at peace, Stefan," I tell him and turn to the side, gesturing to the front door.

He eyes it warily, looking back at Damon who nods at him.

"You sure?" he asks his brother and Damon rolls his eyes.

"We'll be right behind you," I tell Stefan gently and he visibly relaxes. He spares one more look at Damon before he steps forward, pausing to leave a chaste kiss on my cheek.

As I watch Stefan takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, approaching the front door cautiously. He opens it and golden light floods out, basking him in a color that looks like family, the sound of distant laughter and an overall happiness I can't quite fathom trickling out from somewhere deep inside. All the tension in Stefan's body eases as he steps over the threshold, closing the door behind him.

I turn back to Damon.

His eyes are trained on the door his brother disappeared behind, jaw locked.

"Damon," I breathe and he looks at me, a horde of emotions flashing through his eyes.

I've been saying his name for so many years with no reaction, no response from him. I don't know how to contain the joy from him hearing me, if I'll ever get used to it again.

I take his hands in mine, squeezing them tightly and running my thumbs over his knuckles.

He's trembling.

I smile at him warmly and as carefully as I can manage, I slide my hands up his arms. I focus on every strand of thread, the exact feeling of his taut muscles under the soft fabric of his shirt: the same one he was wearing when he died, but unblemished and with no hole to reflect the stake that brought him to me.

Absorbing the full span of his shoulders and drifting over his collar until my palms settle against his neck, I reach up on my toes and press my forehead to his, a shaky breath tumbling from between his lips.

"Can you feel me?" I whisper and he nods; the glorious texture of his skin against mine enough to bring tears to my eyes. "I love you," I promise fiercely and he closes his eyes.

"Elena…" he says softly and my eyelashes flutter and sweep down, a shiver racing through my body. "_Let go_."

My eyes open in shock.

"What?"

"Let go of me," he says and his voice is so low, so deep, so frighteningly dangerous.

I do as he asks and pull my hands away from him, taking a step back and it feels so _wrong_. After all this time I've waited, he's waited, and he's pushing me away? I don't understand anything other than the feeling of rejection I'm being bombarded with. Rejection and confusion and hurt and loss and it is _crippling_.

He lets out a deep breath when we're separate and when he opens his eyes, they are blasting me with an animosity I've never known from him.

"Damon?" I say and reach, but before I can touch him he bats my hand away. I snatch my hand back to myself, cradling it against my chest and it doesn't physically hurt, but everything else does. It's a pain like nothing I've ever felt.

"Is it true?" he growls at me and I flinch.

"Is what true?" I ask and I sound so small, I _feel_ so small.

"Everything that Jeremy said. Have you been watching me the whole time?"

I don't want to tell him the truth. Never did I think he would react like this if he ever found out. I don't know what I thought would happen, but not this.

Still, I nod.

And I wish I hadn't.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he roars at me and I leap back.

"I'm…I'm sorry," I choke out and he scoffs, shaking his head.

"You were supposed to move on. You weren't supposed to hang around to watch the fucking tidal wave of destruction you left behind. Tell me, Elena," he sneers at me, stalking forward. "Are you proud of yourself?"

I shrink under his advance and look away.

"No," I mumble.

"What was that? I can't hear you, Elena," he says, his mocking voice dripping with disdain. "Though that's not exactly a new development, to my understanding…"

"I said no!" I shout and his eyes flare. "I screwed up, I made a mistake, I was wrong. What else do you want me to say?"

"There is nothing you can say!" he yells and something raw and jagged rips through me. "You _died_, Elena. And for what? To satisfy that martyrish suicide wish you wore like a pageant crown? Tell me something, Death Queen: in your quest for world peace did you _ever_ consider what it would do to me to fucking bury you?"

I don't answer because I couldn't even if I wanted to.

I can't breathe.

"Didn't think so," he scowls at me. "You didn't think of a damn person except yourself. Not me, not Stefan, not even Jeremy. How's it feel to be so selfish?"

"Damon…stop," I whimper, my eyes welling up with tears.

"No!" he shouts in my face and I balk. "You don't get to hide from this. God, Elena, and the fucked up thing is…you dying isn't even the _worst part_."

"I'm sorry," I whisper but I don't think he even hears me.

"The only thing that kept me going," he says, his voice dropping to a place that breaks my heart more the further he goes on, "was the thought that you were okay. That after all the shit you had to see and endure and people you lost, that it was done. That you were with your family, with Ric and Jenna, where nothing could hurt you and instead? You were hovering over me while I fell apart day after fucking day because you were gone."

"I couldn't leave you, Damon…" I shrug as the first tear rolls down my cheek. "I love you."

"Bullshit," he spits and I turn my back to him, squeezing my eyes closed. "You don't lie to the man you love for _seventy years_, Elena."

I try to control the sound of my crying, not wanting to make him any more mad than he already is. And he has every right to react this way, I know he does, but I don't know if I can take any more. I've missed him, so much, and I just…I need him to say my name like he used to, to look at me like he used to. Anything, but this.

"Nothing to say?" he taunts and I turn, making myself look at him, my hands clenched into fists by my sides.

I take a deep breath so my voice is as clear and strong as I can make it. "I did it to protect you."

He goes dead still and I lock my muscles in place, preparing for another outburst.

Instead, he laughs; head thrown back under the most terrifying sound I have probably ever heard, apart from his gasp when the stake pierced his heart.

I narrow my eyes at him and when he settles himself, gaze dropping back to me, I shudder. I have seen the violence he wreaks when wearing that look.

"You…" he starts and cuts off, like he wants to call me a name but is stopping himself. I know because he points at me accusingly, then fists his hand like he wishes he could hurt me, but even now, he won't.

I almost wish he would. It may hurt less than his hate.

"You of all people should have known better."

"Than what? To try to protect you?" I snap at him and immediately wish I hadn't.

"You didn't do it to protect me, Elena! You did it to protect yourself."

"That's not true," I growl, my voice low and harsh.

"Really? Then answer me this, Princess. How am I supposed to believe for a second that you care about me when you pulled the exact same shit that she did?"

"What are you talking about?" I screech and then it clicks.

I gasp and cover my mouth with my hands, shaking my head.

"A hundred and forty-five years I waited the first time, only to find out the bitch wasn't where she was supposed to be. It was all one big fucking lie." He steps forward, his body coiled to attack and I straighten my spine, refusing to cower under him. "Now, granted, you only lied to me for half that time, so does that mean I should feel only half as betrayed? Although, if Jeremy hadn't spilled the truth you probably would've let me think that _forever_, so in reality," he says and his voice drops to a disgusted whisper, "you are a thousand times worse than Katherine ever was."

My hand flies and connects with his cheek, his head whipping to the side almost as fast as regret strikes me.

"Oh my God, Damon…" I whisper horrified and reach for him, and he knocks my hands away.

"Don't fucking touch me."

I pull my hands back to myself and nod, fresh tears streaking my cheeks when he turns away. Slowly he walks over to the other side of the porch and leans against the railing, his back to me.

We don't say anything. For a long time.

And all I want to do is go to him, hold him and apologize, feel him and breathe him in and find some way to fix this, but I can't because he's right. I've lied and betrayed him and abandoned him. And I don't deserve to comfort him, to want to be comforted by him.

I've known for many, many years, that I have never deserved him.

I open my mouth a half a dozen times, but I always close it without saying anything. And when I do finally get the courage to speak, I have no idea where to start other than at the beginning.

"Can I say something?" I ask quietly and he doesn't respond, still staring at the space beyond the house that fades into a bleak opaqueness. "There is no way for me to express how sorry I am, for everything. I shouldn't have died. You were right, you always were. But I was young and stupid and I…I was afraid." I don't want to admit the next part, but I know I have to. I swallow my shame and tell him, "And you're right, I didn't think about what it would do to you. About what it would do to Stefan or to Jeremy or to Bonnie or Caroline, all I saw was a way to save you."

He shifts against the railing and crosses his arms, but he doesn't say anything so I keep going while he's giving me the chance.

"The next thing I remember, was being in your room. You were looking in the mirror over your sink and you didn't seem to hear anything I said, not even when I told you I loved you." I close my eyes at the memory. "I didn't understand why you just tied your tie and walked right past me, not even caring that I was right in front of you. And that's when I knew what had happened, and _all _I wanted was to take it back." I stop and wipe at my eyes. "I didn't know what to do, Damon. I was dead, and no matter how much I screamed your name, you couldn't hear me."

His head drops and I take a small step towards him.

"I would change it all if I could, but I can't."

He scoffs and the sound claws through my chest, but I can't stop. Not now.

"The only thing I ever wanted was for you to be happy, as much as you could be. And I can't imagine how hard it was for you, when you had to let Jeremy go and then…" I take a deep breath. "What happened with Katherine," I whisper and he cringes. "I was there, and I saw it all."

He looks at me over his shoulder, his eyes wide, and I nod.

"And it was my fault. Every time you couldn't get out of bed was because I had left you."

He looks away and I pause, knowing how hard it must be for him to hear that I saw all of his worst moments, things that he would never want anyone to see.

"And maybe I should have tried to let you go, tried to move on, but I didn't know how and honestly, I wouldn't have even if I _had_ known." I swallow and stand a little straighter, my voice resolute. "That is the one thing I will never regret because what you don't understand is…we had a whole life together."

He crosses one ankle over another, like he's perfectly relaxed leaning up against the railing, but I can hear his ragged breaths, see the slight tremble in his shoulders.

"_Seventy years_, Damon. We spent our days reading on the couch, our nights lying in bed after going out dancing. We traveled and I met your friends and spent time with you and Caroline. And Patrice," I add and he huffs a bit at the name, bringing a pained smile to my face. "I was there when you made peace with your brother, and I know you couldn't hear me, or feel me, but I promise I held your hand the entire night when you healed Ellie."

My hand rests over my heart, remembering the quiet darkness of her room and the moonlight coming in through the windows. How Damon sat vigil in the rocking chair with the bedroom door barricaded, Jeremy curled up with his five-year-old daughter on her daybed with Daisies printed on her sheets, eventually falling asleep with her. Her juice cup that had Damon's blood in it forgotten on her bedside table.

Every hour or so Damon would crouch down and listen to her heart, and the next morning when the sun rose and Jeremy woke, Damon just gave him an easy smile and a nod, silently telling him it was done. I couldn't help but cry when Jeremy's eyes watered, mouthing his heartfelt thanks before Damon slipped out of her room.

Ellie never saw him come in, and she didn't see him leave.

"It was…it was the most incredible thing I've ever seen."

He clears his throat and I take another step closer.

"I never should have died, I know that. But I would never want any other life than the one we lived."

"You mean the one that you lived," he says quietly and I freeze. He turns to face me and I'm taken back by the way his eyes are glistening. "The life that you stole from me. Because the thing is, Elena, we could have had that life, better, if you would have let me give it to you. But you didn't."

He pushes off the railing and I make myself stand my ground even as my eyes well up.

"Those days we spent reading? Those nights in bed? Guess what. There was no 'we' for me. Because I couldn't see you, or hear you, or touch you. I was alone."

"Damon…" I start and stop when shakes his head at me.

"Don't apologize to me. I don't want to hear it anymore. It doesn't change anything, Elena." His voice is so sure, so calm, and I burst into tears.

"So that's it?" I say and wipe at my eyes, and he tilts his head at me quizzically. "I know I screwed up, believe me, but we're here now and we're together and you're just going to walk away?"

"Does it look like I'm going anywhere? Newsflash: I just died for you."

"And what the hell did you die for? To yell at me? To tear my heart out of my chest? Because that's what you're doing!"

He narrows his eyes at me but I just can't keep it inside. The guilt has punched a hole in my chest and the only things pouring out of the wound are all the anger and confusion I've been trying to hold back.

It hurts too much to even attempt to keep it contained.

"What do you want from me?" I scream and this time, he flinches. "You don't want me to apologize, you don't want me to touch you, you won't touch _me_ and just… _Fuck!"_

"Elena…" he says sternly but I don't care anymore.

"No! I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but-"

"I shouldn't forgive you for this!" he yells and I stop, gaping at him.

It feels like the fogginess that is painting the universe has seeped in through my pores because my head is spinning, and all I hear are different words blending into one single truth.

"_I hate him, Stefan."_

"_I shouldn't forgive you for this."_

"_Yes, you have lost me forever."_

I don't know why we never just say it.

"_I don't love you. Not anymore."_

I hug my arms over my chest and nod my agreement, unable to stop the barrage of tears raining down my cheeks.

This time, I don't have a choice to hide from it. I may not get another chance to know the truth.

"I understand," I whisper. "Because why would you love someone that did what I did."

He storms towards me, stopping just before his body grazes mine; the force of his fury building him taller so he towers over me.

I hang my head, unable to stomach his eyes.

"I am so mad at you," he growls quietly, his voice vibrating with barely controlled rage and I squeeze my eyes shut as more tears fall.

He's never going to look at me the same. Ever again.

I startle when I feel a fingertip touch under my chin, gently tilting my face up to his. I swallow my fear and open my eyes, because I know I deserve to see his resolve when he tells me he's moving on without me.

They're a storm of blue, sparkling with the tears he's refusing to let fall. He's so much stronger than I am. He always has been.

He takes a deep breath and I steel myself.

This is it: he's going to say it.

"But that doesn't mean that I _don't_ love you." His voice is full of sincerity and all the breath in my body rushes out of me at once.

I collapse against him as he wraps me in his arms, gripping his back with any strength I can pull from my emotionally exhausted body. He's so solid, so steady, so _real _and I shift up on my toes, winding an arm around his shoulders so my hands are locked together, his grasp on me tightening as I bury my face in his neck.

He's quiet as he holds me, his hand light on my hair, cheek resting to my crown and just letting me cling to him through my gasping breaths.

His patience, his tenderness, just makes me sob harder.

"Elena, I need you to breathe," he whispers after a while and I shake my head.

"I can't," I choke out and he chuckles lightly.

"Now where have I heard that before?"

The memory of the night I died comes rushing back and I tighten my grip on him, my knees wanting to buckle under my shame. I'm supposed to be the one comforting him and once more, I've messed it all up. God, it's so unfair to him.

"Everything is going to be okay. Please try to calm down," he tells me quietly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on my back. His voice becomes a little louder, tone lighter when he adds, "Besides, you think I died just so you could cry all over me?"

A strangled laugh makes its way through my tears and there's a pleased rumble in his chest before he drops a kiss to my hair.

"I mean, I know you were insistent on ruining my shirts when we were alive, but I'm thinking there's probably _not_ a Saks on Purgatory Avenue."

I sniffle and he takes a deep, exaggerated breath to lead me and I follow, matching the repeated rise and fall of his chest until I'm almost under control: still slightly shaking, but not really crying anymore. He shifts a little like he wants to look at me and I lean back, one of his hands brushing my hair back and tenderly wiping my tears away.

"Hi," he smiles at me and I bite my lip to keep from crying all over again. It's so overwhelming to have him see me after decades of him looking right through me. And he must see my lip quiver because he pouts before saying, "You're gonna make me wait this long and now I can't even get a smile?"

It works just like he knew it would and I smile before I can help it, his grin matching my own.

"Much better," he teases with a dramatic flourish that pulls another small laugh from me.

"Damon, I…" My voice cracks and eyes well up, and he holds up a finger like a warning.

"I know," he says seriously and then he cups my cheek lovingly, his thumb sweeping over my skin. "And see," he sighs, "I have this thing about kissing girls that are crying." He purses his lips. "Terrible for my ego."

He winks at me and I blush deeply before I try, and probably fail, to look concerned. "God forbid we bruise your ego, because that would be the end of existence as we know it."

He scoffs. "You're telling me."

His face smoothes into a look of pure adoration and slowly, he leans down, his lips hovering over mine for a single extra second just before he kisses me. And the firm pressure of his lips, his palm gently cradling my face, his other arm draped over my shoulder and holding me snugly to him, it says everything I'm desperate to hear.

How much he's missed me. How much he loves me.

That despite everything, he's chosen to forgive me.

I slide my hand from his chest up to his neck, threading my fingers into his hair and his mouth curves into a smile that feels like a promise. His thumb strokes my jaw, easing me to the angle he wants just before his lips part and guide my own to match, his tongue slipping in and caressing mine affectionately. I wind my other arm around his neck, stretching up to press myself against him but it's not even necessary, his arms circling my waist and lifting me up so I can feel every ripple of his muscles through of his shirt.

Only once before have we kissed with this much passion: grace bowing to reckless abandon, a windfall that is purity of devotion, and nothing in our past can hope to compare.

"Elena," he sighs against my lips and I pull back far enough to rest my forehead against his, both of us breathless. His large hands are caressing my whole back and I don't care what he's about to say, as long as he doesn't stop touching me. "If you tell me that dead people can't have sex, I'm probably going to die all over again," he says sounding a little dazed, and I smile.

"I'm sure we can figure it out," I tell him and he chuckles, lifting one more kiss from my lips before he rests his hands on my hips, clearing his throat like he's trying to get himself under control.

"So, Casper, as the resident ghost, what exactly are we supposed to do now?"

I shrug. "Live happily ever after. You know, the usual."

"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I'm pretty sure we're dead." I smile and he jerks his head toward the front door. "Ready to see what all the fuss is about?"

"I'm game if you are," I tell him and he gives me a single nod.

I shriek when he suddenly dips and sweeps my legs up, cradling me to him just like he always did whenever he would carry me.

"Ugh," he groans and shifts his hold. "What have you been eating up here? You're heavier than I remember," he grumbles and I gape at him in shock.

"Jerk!" I screech, smacking his shoulder as he walks us to the door. "If I'm so heavy, put me down."

But Damon just rolls his eyes, opening the front door of the house without letting me go and sending warm light spilling all over the porch.

He carries me over the threshold without a moment of hesitancy, his lips a flawless smirk when he says, "Let you go _now_? Unthinkable…"

* * *

_x_

_FIN_

_x_

* * *

**A/N: AND THERE IT IS! I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing it, and by enjoy I mean I spent hours crying alone in my office while writing and txting Trogdor19 that I'm insane and wtf am I thinking for writing this and everyone was going to hate it and ALL OF YOU PROVING ME COMPLETELY WRONG! So thank you for that! I just cannot ever say enough how much I appreciate you all rooting me on and being so trusting with me, it means the world. **

**In Goldnox-land news: _Mirrors and Broken Things_ is now available to be purchased on Kindle Worlds on Amazon by _C. L. Marlene_ (that's me! :D) for $3.99 and I am super, super excited! It's been a little bit refurbished and while it is now PG 13, WHOOO buddy, It's more like PG 17 because Trog and I pushed every boundary we could to see what we could "get away with" in a sense and the answer is: LOL, A LOT. Friggin sweet. And it was published just in time for you to WIN a copy. How do I win a copy you ask? Well, let me tell you! **

**There is a kickass blog that reviews Kindle World's books and there is currently a contest being held to win your favorite Kindle Worlds book! Go to _kindleworldsvampirediaries dot com_ and leave a comment with the book of your liking! The contest just opened so chances are high to score the book you want, and the deadline is December 1st so make sure you get your comments in soon! **

**Okay guys, thanks so much again for everything, and don't forget to hit that follow author button because you just never know what kind of crazy shit my muse is going to come up with next! Love to all, and happy reading!**

**-Goldnox**


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